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FIRST  STEPS  IN'® 
ENGUM  COMPOSliON 


PETERSON 


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THE  FLANAGAN  EDUCATIONAL  SERIES 


FIRST   STEPS 


ENGLISH    COMPOSITION 


GRAMMAR  AND  HIGH  SCHOOLS, 
SEMINARIES  AND  COLLEGES 


A  New  and  Original  Method  Based  on 
Class-room  Experience 

JS  J  A'u> 

By 
H.  C.  PETERSON,  Ph.D. 


MASTER   IN  THE   DUPOXT  MANUAL  TBAININS 
HIGH   SCHOOL,   LOUISVILLE,   KY. 


:  CHICAGO  : 

A.   FLANAGAN  CO. 


bcr'  iyu6 


Copyright,  1902 
A.  Flanagan  Compaitt 


PREFACE. 

It  ma}'  be  said — and  probably  with  eutire  safety — that  En- 
glish composition  is  the  most  difficult  subject  which  the  gram- 
mar or  high  school  teacher,  or  the  college  professor,  finds  him- 
self called  upon  to  teach ;  compared  with  Algebra,  Physics  or 
Latin,  it  is  so  lacking  in  system,  so  grievously  without  progres- 
sive or  inductive  method.      3Iany  books  have  been  put  forth  and 

^      many  suggestions  have  been  made  to  aid  the  teacher  of  English 

s      in  his  work.     All  have  been  of  value;  our  work  is  improving  from 
year  to  year;  and  within  the  last  decade  especially,   much  pro- 

)       gress  in  our  teaching  has  been  made. 

>  The  advance  in  our  ideals  is  most  apparent   when  we  note 

the  inceasing  clearness  with  which  teachers  see  that  composi- 

■^    tion-writing  is  a  practical  matter,  and  that,  consequently,  their 

X  first  duty  is  to  have  their  pupils  write.      Indeed,    it  is  coming 
(     to  be  felt  that  considerable  such  practice  should  be  preliminary 

^   even  to  the  more  formal  study  of  grammar  and  rhetoric. 

When  I  say  that  the  present  little  book  furnishes  the  mat- 
ter and  the  method  for  such  a  course  of  work,  I  define  at  once 
its  scope  and  its  limits.  It  is  in  no  way  intended  to  compete  with 
any  of  the  numerous  texts  in  grammar  and  rhetoric  that  are  al- 
ready in  the  field ;  it  aims  merely  to  precede  them,  or,  at  most, 
to  furnish  material  for  practical  work  that  shall  go  along 
parallel  with  them. 

But  this  is  not  the  place  to  discuss  methods  of  teaching 
English.  The  introduction  to  tliis  l)ook  is,  in  a  sense,  also  its 
preface.  I  content  myself  here  with  expressing  the  deep  sense 
of  obligation  I  am  under  to  the  many  teacliers  of  English  who 
have  favored    me  with  suggestions,  or  with  criticisms    of  the 

3 


4  FIRST  STEPS  IN  ENdLISII  COMPOSITION. 

proof-sheets.  And  1  feel  that  T  must  specially  thank  Piof .  C. 
A.  Smith  of  tlie  Tiouisiana  8late  University;  I'rof.  J.  S.  Suod- 
dy,  of  the  North  Pakota  State  Normal  School;  Prof.  P.  P. 
Claxton,  of  the  North  Carolina  State  Normal  School;  Prof. 
Chas.  M.  Curry,  of  the  Indiana  State  Normal  School;  Supt. 
Geo.  P.  Glenn,  Jacks(mville,  Florida;  Mrs.  Emma  Mont.  McRae, 
of  Purdue  University,  Lafayette,  Ind.  ;  Miss  Mary  C.  Moore, 
of  the  State  Normal  School,  Framingham,  Mass.  ;  and  Mrs. 
Waldo  Dennis  of  the  Park  Manor  High  School,  Chicago. 

With  this,  I  leave  the  work  to  the  consideration  of  my  fel- 
low-teachers. I  shall  he  content  if  it  aids,  even  in  a  small 
way,  to  solve  a  troublesome  problem. 

H.   C.   P. 
Louisville,  Ky. ,  December,  1901. 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 

Page 
INTRODUCTION — Preliminary  Suggestions  to  the  Teacher. 

1.  When  to  write. — Assign  no  subject 9 

2.  Adapting  the  subject  to  the  pupil's  capacity  unnecessary.  11 

3.  How  to  correct  encouragingly 11 

4.  Elaborate  correction  a  waste  of  energy 12 

5.  How  drudgery  may  be  disregarded 14 

G.     Form  and  method  for  the  pupil 15 

7.  Correlation  of  Literature  and  Composition ..  16 

8.  How  to  use  this  book 17 

CHAPTER  I— The  Visualization. 

1.  Seeing  with  the  mind's  eye 19 

2.  Making  a  pen  picture  of  the  mind  picture 20 

3.  Picturing  in  words 20 

4.  Reviewing  and  correcting 21 

5.  Selecting  a  title 21 

6.  Suggestions  for  practice 22 

7.  Hints  to  the  teacher 22 

CHAPTER  II— The  Individualizing  Touch. 

1.  Individualizing  details 24 

2.  Selecting  a  title 25 

3.  Forming  the  habit  of  writing  correctly 25 

4.  Subjects  for  practice 25 

CHAPTER  III -Motion  Pictures. 

1.     Describing  objects  in  motion  with  their  surroundings 27 

2      Seeing  what  people  in  general  do  not  see 27 

3.     Practice  exercises. — Hints 28 

CHAPTER  IV— The  Envikonment  Sketch— (a). 

1.  How  to  setforth  character  by  means  of  environment 30 

2.  Introduction.— The    body    of    the     composition.— Con- 

clusion.—Selecting  the  title 31 

3.  Reviewing  and  correcting. — Practice 32-33 

5 


f'  FIRST  STKl'S  I\    i:.\(iLlSII  ('( )M  I'OSlTIoN. 

C'li.M'TllK  V— Tiiii;  E.\vii;()n.mi;nt  Skictcii — (it). 

1.  Setting  forth  past  happenings  by  lueaiis  ofenvironnient.  So 

2.  Keeping  out  old  mistakes 3(5 

8.     How  and  wliy  to  avoid  ramhling 37 

4.     Suggestions  for  sketches 37-3U 

CHAPTER  VI— The  DialogieSkkivh. 

1.  Hdw  to  set  forth  character  by  means  of  conversation 40 

2.  Inventing  a  situation 40 

3.  The  introductiiry  paragrajjh 41 

4.  Points  to  be  observed  in  thi'  dialogue 42 

T).     C)neluding  steps 43 

T).     Hints  and  cautions  for  practice 43-48 

CHAPTER  VII— The  DEscKinioN. 

1.  Wliat  is  a  literary  description? — How  it   differs  from 

visualization 49 

2.  Giving  individualizing  touches  to  a  description 50 

(The  railroad  station. — Wliat  not  to  see.) 

3.  Hints  as  to  naturalness  of  details 51-54 

4.  Discrimination  in  selecting  details 55 

5.  Overcoming  difiiculties  in  describing  i^ersons 50 

(>.     Suggestions  for  practice 56-57 

CHAPTER  VIII-TiiE  Narration. 

1.  The  introduction 58 

2.  "Writing  in  the  lirst  person 58 

3.  Principles  of  the  description  applicable 58 

4.  Omitting  what.overj-body  sees... 59 

—  5.     Using  conversation  and  the  environment  sketch 59 

6.  Leading  up  to  the  sti-iking  features 00 

7.  Suggestions  as  to  paragraphing 61 

8.  Practice  exercises 62 

CHAPTER  IX— Elementary   Rhetoric. 

1.  How  to  correct  eirors  judiciously 63 

2.  Capitals 63 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS.  7 

CHAPTER  IX— Elementary  Rhetoric— (Continued.) 

3.  Punctuation 64-68 

A. — The  simple  sentence. 
B. — The  compound  sentence. 
C. — The  complex  sentence. 
D.— Sentences  in  general. 

4.  The  Most  Common  Faults  of  Expression 69-81 

A.— In  tlie  use  of  verbs. 
B. — In  the  use  of  nouns. 
C— In  the  use  of  pronouns. 
D. — In  the  use  of  conjunctions. 
E. — In  the  use  of  adjectives. 
F. — In  the  use  of  adverbs. 
G. — In  the  use  of  prepositions. 
H. — In  the  construction  of  sentences. 
CHAPTER  X— Some  Principles  T'nderlying  the  Art  of  Story- 
telling. 

1.  "Where  to  find  material 82 

2.  Fir.st  person  versus  third  jierson 83 

3.  Avoid  monologues  and  meditations 85 

4.  Premonitory  allusions 85 

the  events  of  a  .story. 

1.  Leading  up  to  the  important  event 87 

2.  Overcoming  the  reader's  incredulity 90 

3.  Atmosphere ''l 

THE  CHARACTERS  OF  A  >^T()1{Y. 

L  Description 92 

2.  Environment 93 

8.  Dialogue 93 

4 .  In  f  erences 94 

5.  Inferences  that  reverse  prcviou.^*  expei'tations 96 

6.  ^lakc  inferences  and  description  correspond 97 

7.  Shielding  the  characters 98 

S.  Exercises  for  Practice 100 

APPENDIX —  Selectio.ns     and     F>\ei{cises     Ilmstuatixg     the 

Pl;lNCIPLES    DeVELOPKI)     in    the    PrKCKDINC    Cm  AI'TKliS. 

11  ELI'S  FOR  StI  1)Y 107-141 


TNTROBUCTION. 
PRELIMINARY  DIRECTIONS  FOR  THE  TEACHER. 

'  5  ^  ^  i^ 
The  pupils  should  be  furnished  with  a  composition  pad  of 

good,  unruled  paper  some  5x8  inches  in  size.  This  they  should 
be  allowed  to  place  on  the  desk  before  them  in  any  natural 
position.  They  should  be  permitted  to  sit  in  any  easy  attitude. 
They  should  write  with  a  lead  pencil,  on  one  side  of  the  paper 
only;  should  leave  a  margin  of  half  an  inch  on  the  left  side  of 
the  page,  and  should  1)egin  about  two  inches  from  the  top  of  the 
first  sheet. 

This  is  how  most  of  the  writing  in  practical  life  is  done. 
But,  more  than  this,  if  much  preliminary  fuss  be  made  with 
ruled  paper,  ink,  blotters,  and  clean  pens,  the  pupils  will  get 
the  idea  that  composition-writing  is  something  of  special  so- 
lemnity and  importance,  and  will,  as  a  consequence,  become 
more  or  less  ill-at-ease  and  self-conscious.  It  is  to  this  feeling, 
most  probably,  that  much  of  the  ill-success  experienced  in 
this  work  is  traceal)le.  Be  it  never  so  slight,  this  lack  of  ease 
can  not  fail  to  hamper  even  the  brightest  minds. 

WHEN  TO  WRITE— ASSIGN  NO  SUBJECT. 

There  should  be  a  composition-exercise  of  from  one-half  to 
three-quarters  of  an  hour  every  day.  If  the  daily  program 
will  not  permit  this,  the  exercise  should  come  at  least  as  often 
as  possible.  But  the  daily  exercise  should  be  the  ideal.  And, 
in  the  beginning,  there  should  be  no  such  organization  as  a 
class  in  composition.  The  work  sliould  l)e  carried  on  with 
the  school  as  a  whole,  —should  be  something  in  the  nature  of 
a  special  exercise  or  recreation. 

9 


10  FliuST  STKrS  IN  K-Nl.LlSll  C'U.Ml'oSlTlON. 

Ktiivlv,  iu  such  \v(M-k  as  this,  should  a  subject  be  given  out 
beforehand— only  iit  the  moment  the  pupils  are  ready  to  begin 
should  they  know  what  they  are  to  write  about.  Tlic  aim  here 
is  to  have  the  sul)ject  "strike"  the  pupils,  and  to  have  them 
write  while  under  the  inspiration  of  their  theme.  Nobody  can 
write  with  any  success  or  pleasure  when  not  under  such  inspi- 
ration. And,  with  immature  minds,  this  naturally  cannot  last 
long.  Yet,  working  without  it  is  distasteful,  injurious,  and 
always  unsatisfactory. 

Do  we  not  remember  from  our  childhood  how  the  m\'  and 
sparkle  vanished  from  our  composition  subjects  the  m(jment 
we  began  to  brood  over  them?  What  at  first  seemed  to  be  a 
pleasure  suddenly  became  a  task ;  and  we  surely  have  not  for- 
gotten how  we,  as  a  consequence,  hated  the  very  name  of  com- 
position. In  fact,  there  should  be  no  such  word  as  subject 
mentioned  to  the  pupils  at  all.  They  themselves  select  their 
''sul)ject"  when  they  write  the  title  at  the  head  of  their  work. 

For  this  same  reason  the  pupils  should  be  urged  to  write 
as  rapidly  as  they  can  make  their  pens  go,  and  should  not  be 
allowed  to  stop  for  thought  at  all.  If  they  make  a  mistake, 
let  them  cross  it  out  and  start  afresh.  They  should  strike 
while  the  iron  is  hot,  and  get  everything  down  before  the  en- 
thusiasm fades  from  the  mind.  If  they  stop  for  two  minutes 
to  rub  out  a  line  carefully,  they  will  find  the  old  lassitude, 
forgetfulness,  and  self-consciousness  come  creeping  in. 

Composition-writing  is  not  penmanship;  nor  is  neatness  a 
prime  requisite  with  this  sort  of  daily  work,  at  this  stage  in 
their  progress.  The  manuscript  of  many  a  favorite  book— 
Kcnihcorth,  Pope's  HlmJ,  A  Christmas  Carol— as  we  see  it  in 
the  British  Museum,  reveals  pages  made  well-nigh  illegible  by 
corrections,  blottings.  and  interlinear  additions. 


INTRODUCTION.  11 

ADAPTING  THE  SUBJECT  TO  THE  PUPIL'S  CAPACITY  UNNECESSARY. 

The  teacher  need  not  concern  himself  much  with  bringing 
his  subject  down  to  the  level  of  his  pupils'  abilit}'.  In  imag- 
inative writing  their  skill  in  finding  enough  to  say  is  well-nigh 
boundless.  He  need  merely'  keep  within  their  probable  experi- 
ences and  direct  their  energies  in  some  systematic  way — as 
this  book,  for  instance,  endeavors  to  point  out. 

Young  people's  minds  are  livel}'  and  skittish,  like  a  young 
horse;  and  teaching  naturally  consists  less  in  urging  them  on 
than  in  holding  them  down  to  a  straight  and  orderly  course. 
The  instructor  would  not,  of  course,  ask  a  class  in  Maine  to 
visualize  a  sod-house,  nor  one  in  Nebraska  to  imagine  a  wooded 
ravine  with  a  spring  in  it.  But  as  to  mental  processes,  most 
writers,  old  and  young,  do  not  differ  so  very  materially  from 
each  other.  The  imaginative  power  of  Sarah,  Jane,  and  George 
on  the  one  hand,  is  not  so  inferior  as  we  think  to  the  ability 
of  Dickens  and  Stevenson  on  the  other.  The  difference 
between  them  is,  to  some  extent  at  least,  merely  one  of  train- 
ing in  the  actual  work  of  composing  artistically. 

Nor  should  the  teacher  worr^^  about  the  different  degrees  of 
advancement  among  his  pupils;  the  better  ones  will  simply 
treat  the  subject  better,  and  from  such  handling  the  poorer 
ones  will  learn.  Remember  that  even  Dickens  spent  time  and 
labor  upon  the  death  of  Paul  Dorabey.  Mary,  Jane,  and 
<Teorge  could  very  likely  have  visualized  this  just  as  clearly, 
and  would  have  written  it  down  as  well,  at  least,  as  they 
knew  how. 

HOW  TO  CORRECT  ENCOURAGINGLY. 

The  pupils  should  write  at  their  seats;  and  while  they  are 
thus  engaged,  the  teacher  should  continually  pass  about  among 


12  FIUST  STEl'.S  IN  ENciLlSlI  C  U.Ml'oSlTloN. 

tlu'in  overseeing  their  work  and  afi'oi-ding  tlieni  an  opportimit}' 
lo  ask  him  f<n"  aid.  And  I  can  hardly  help  thinking-  that  two 
minutes'  individual  uistruction  at  a  pupils  seat  is,  on  the 
whole,  worth  more  to  him  than  several  days'  incidental  atten- 
tion in  a  class.  The  teacher  himself  will  find  this  a  refreshing 
break  in  his  daily  routine. 

The  great  majority  of  the  pupils — and  especially  those  that 
have  not  enjoyed  any  preliminary  theoretical  instruction — 
will  start  oti'  at  once.*  The  backward  pupils  can  be  helped  by 
a  few  quiet  questions,  so  framed  as  to  focus  their  perhaps 
rather  hazy  mental  vision  upon  a  salient  point.  The  aim 
should  be  to  get  them  all  well  started  within  the  first  minute  or 
two  of  the  exercise,  when  nine-tenths  will  of  themselves  carry 
their  work  to  a  triumphant  close. 

While  the  teacher  is  thus  moving  about  among  his  pupils,  he 
should  continually  offer  such  brief  individual  corrections  and 
suggestions  as  will  help  them  to  improve  their  work.  But 
these  should  l)e  of  an  intensely  practical  sort.  The  pupil  does 
not  possess  the  feeling  for  a  smooth,  logical  sentence  that  the 
teacher  has;  and  a  criticism  to  this  end,  which  he  does  not 
clearly  see  the  force  of,  will  l)rlng  back  the  old  self-concious- 
ness  and  the  old  discouragement.  After  a  while  the  pupils 
with  an  independent  temperament  will  come  to  think  that  these 
corrections  are,  anyway,  merely  arbitrary  inventions  of  the 
teacher;  while  those  that  have  difficulties  and  trou))les  will  grow 
more  and  more  discouraged  from  their  inal)ility  to  understand 
just  what  is  wantcil  of  them.      Better  no  criticism  at  all. 

ELABORATE  CORRECTION  A  WASTE  OF  ENERGY. 

For  this  same  reason  the  teacher  need  not  feel  oppressed  b}' 
qualms  of  conscience  if  he  fail  to  correct  every  fault  he   may 

*  This,  at  least,  has  been  my  experience. 


INTRODUCTION.  13 

notice; — he  will  naturally  see  uuiu}^  more  than  his  pupils. 
Have  we  forgotten  how  it  was  with  us  in  our  school  days?  Do 
we  not  remember  our  periodical  discouragements — not  unmixed 
with  rebelliousness  of  spii'it— at  the  never-decreasing  amount 
of  red  ink  upon  our  monthly  themes?  And  how  indefinite  and 
incomprehensible  much  of  it  was! 

No,  the  elaborate  correction  of  compositions  is  a  waste  of 
energy.  The  pupils  will  write  clearly,  forcibly,  and  with  a 
fair  degree  of  precision  because — as  we  have  assumed — they 
are  writing  from  inspiration ;  and  this  is,  after  all,  the  great 
panacea  for  rhetorical  ills.  Have  we  ever  noticed  how  well 
they  can  talk?  And  as  to  <  ■elegance,"  but  few  learners,  in 
attempting  this  quality  of  style,  will  be  able  to  keep  clear  of 
affectation  and  wordiness. 

Let  the  teacher  make  only  one  or,  at  most,  two  criticisms  or 
suggestions  each  day.  The  construction  of  an  artistic  English 
sentence  depends,  after  all,  upon  taste.  Some  fluency  in  com- 
position, correct  spelling,  capitalization  and  punctuation;  free- 
dom from  the  most  glaring  improprieties  and  solecisms,  and  re- 
lief from  the  ambiguities  so  often  met  with  in  the  position  of 
phrases  and  in  the  reference  of  pronouns,  are  about  all  we  can 
expect  from  young  people  below  the  college  sophomore.  But 
we  should  be  able  to  secure  this  much. 

If  the  teacher  could  each  day  bring  about  the  abandon- 
ment of  but  a  single  minor  fault— such  as  those  given  in  the 
Vjack  of  this  book— his  class  would  master  the  entire  subject  of 
elementary  rhetoric  in  three  months.  Composition  writing  is  a 
practical  matter,  and  the  first  duty  of  the  instructor  is  to  have 
his  pupils  write  compositions.  Wlien  they  can  do  that  with 
some  fluency,  it  will  be  time  enough  for  him  to  set  about  im- 
proving their  language  or  their  '-style." 


14  FIRST  STEIS  IN  i:N(iLISlI  COMPOSITION. 

HOW  DRUDGERY  MAY  WITH   SAFETY  BE  DISREGARDED. 

The  biiU-liour  or  more  devoted  lo  eiicL  exereise  should  be  so 
portioned  off  that  two-thirds  of  it  will  be  consumed  in  the  act- 
ual writino-,  and  the  remainder  in  general  discussions  and  in  the 
reading  of  selections  from  the  work  produced.  The  composi- 
tions will  not,  as  a  general  thing,  be  long;  and  when  all,  or 
nearly  all,  of  the  pupils  have  finished,  the  teacher  should  ask 
for  the  attention  of  the  school.  Then  he  should  request  them 
to  read  over  very  carefully  what  they  have  written,  and  to 
make  it  as  correct  and  as  good  as  they  ran. 

While  working  with  the  class,  he  should  have  made  it  a 
point  to  notice  one  or  two  mistakes  common  to  a  good  many 
of  the  compositions.  These  he  should  now  bring  before  them 
definitely,  at  the  same  time  stating  what  the  proper  form  would 
be.  He  should  ask  who  made  that  mistake,  and  who  did  not ; 
anti  should  give  them  a  minute  to  correct  their  work  accord- 
ingly. 

If  the  pupils  thus  correct  their  own  sentences,  the  matter 
will  touch  them  more  closely,  and  they  will  understand  the 
force  and  value  of  the  correction  more  clearly,  than  if  they  be  set 
to  alter  a  miscellaneous  collection  of  isolated  passages— usually 
with  a  vocabulary  and  a  subject  matter  beyond  their  reach,  and 
often  culled  from  writers  that,  for  the  most  part,  they  are  un- 
acquainted with. 

Next,  the  teacher  should  state  one  or  two  points  of  his  own 
concerning  proper  modes  of  expression — such  as  better  gram- 
mar, improved  phraseology,  punctuation,  the  avoidance  of  ambi- 
guity, and  what  not,  and  should  give  them  time  to  change  their 
sentences  accordingly.  And  above  all,  as  has  been  said,  let 
him  give  his  class  but  a  morsel  at  a  time  froni  the  huge  rhe- 
torical larder. 


INTRODUCTION.  15 

In  this  way  the  teacher  ina}-,  with  entire  peace  of  mind,  spare 
himself  the  enervating  drudgery  of  theme-correcting.  His  direc- 
tions in  red  ink  to  expand,  condense,  omit,  and  recast  would, 
in  the  great  majorit}'  of  cases,  probably  not  be  full}'  under- 
stood by  his  class,  any  wa}'.  And  if  he  devote  only  a  fraction 
of  his  euerg}'  to  studying  his  pupils,  to  planning  his  work,  to 
keeping  his  own  school-boy  experiences  well  in  mind,  and  to 
thinking  up  interesting  subjects  for  his  class  to  write  about, 
he  will  find  not  only  that  he  himself  is  growing  in  teaching 
ability  but  that  his  pupils  are,  from  day  to  day,  acquiring  new 
self-confidence  and  increased  fluency  of  expression. 

FORM  AND  METHOD  FOR  THE  PUPIL. 

Last  in  point  of  time,  but  not  least  in  importance,  will  be  the 
reading  by  the  pupils  themselves  of  some  half-dozen  composi- 
tions. Here,  again,  the  teacher  should  proceed  with  disce- 
tion.  Some  poorer  ones  and  some  better  ones  should  be  reaa 
each  time,  but  let  him  ask  the  more  backward  pupils  to  read 
first.  Not  only  will  this  spare  them  the  mortification  of  being 
compelled  to  inflict  their  inferior  work  upon  the  school  after  a 
good  piece  has  been  read,  but  it  will,  furthermore,  permit  them 
to  institute  comparisons  in  quiet  and  to  draw  much  profit  from 
the  superior  work  of  their  fellows. 

Each  pupil  should  carefully  preserve  his  compositions,  and 
to  this  end  should  fold  them  lengthwise  and  write  his  name 
across  the  upper  end.  If  two  or  more  sheets  have  been  used, 
each  page  should  be  numbered  and  the  pages  should  be  fas- 
tened together  at  the  right-hand  corner  with  a  pin  or  fastener. 

After  Christmas,  at  the  beginning  of  the  second  term,  the 
teacher  should  commence  to  select  some  specimens  of  the 
best  work,  to  be  carefully  copied  in  ink  and  read  as  part  of  the 


16  FIRST  STEPS  IN  ENGLISH  COMPOSITION. 

special  Friday  afU'ruoou  exercises.  And  he  should  see  to  it 
that  each  pupil  participate  at  least  once  in  this  feature  of  the 
school  work. 

"When  the  spring  term  has  opened,  the  pupils  should  be 
urged  to  plan  and  write  a  complete  story  along  the  lines 
given  in  this  book ; — the  best  of  these  might  then  be  chosen  for 
the  graduating  exercises.  A  well-written  story  would,  in  gen- 
eral, be  much  more  highly  appreciated  by  a  commencement 
audience  than  the  somewhat  abnormal  life-philosophy  that  we 
are  accustomed  to  hear  on  such  occasions. 

In  conclusion,  let  it  be  said  once  again  that  composition- writ- 
ing, like  constructing  a  machine  or  cutting  a  diamond,  is  a 
practical  matter.  As  such,  no  amount  of  theoretical  instruction 
can  ever,  of  itself,  bring  about  proficiency.  If  the  teacher 
of  composition  would  do  as  the  instructor  of  the  young  mechanic 
does — furnish  his  pupils  with  materials  for  work,  set  them  to 
practicing  at  some  elementary  processes,  oversee  their  efforts, 
and,  when  necessary,  give  such  bits  of  direct  advice  as  would 
be  helpful — he  might  in  all  reason  expect  to  be  as  well  rewarded 
for  his  labors. 

THE  CORRELATION  OF  LITERATURE  AND  COMPOSITION. 

But,  in  a  general  way,  and  apart  from  considerations  of  de- 
tail, the  reading  of  good  literature  is,  after  all,  the  best  help 
in  composition- writing.  These  two  divisions  of  English  study 
are  kept  apart  altogether  too  much. 

This  is  not  the  place  to  discuss  methods  of  teaching  litera- 
ture. But  the  teacher  could  do  his  composition  class  much 
good  if  he  would  urge  them  to  bring  in  little  selections  from 
their  story-papers  or  their  fiction  that  should  illustrate 
how  environment  sketches,   dialogues,  visualijjations,   descrip- 


INTRODI'CTION.  17 

tions,  and  so  forth  are  made  by  writers  that  are  pleasing. 
These  could  be  considered  in  a  recitation ;  the  teacher  could 
ask  questions  of  an  analytic  character  about  them;  and  the 
pupils  could  be  made  to  see  that  they  are  not  doing  something 
impractical,  or  merely  pedagogical,  in  following  the  sugges- 
tions of  this  book ;  but  are,  instead,  doing  what  thousands  of 
people  in  real  life  do.  A  few  such  selections  I  have  added  at 
the  close  of  the  several  chapters. 

HOW  TO  USE  THIS  BOOK. 

This  book  should  be  in  the  hands  of  the  pupil  while  at 
work,  and  should  be  used  continually  for  reference.  Indeed, 
the  value  of  the  following  pages  will  be  directly  proportioned 
to  the  use  thus  made  of  them. 

After  one  or  two  compositions  of  each  sort  shall  have  been 
written,  the  subject-matter  of  the  chapter  in  question  ma}^  be  gone 
over  in  a  recitation.  But  the  study  of  the  chapter  should  never 
precede  the  writing  of  the  compositions;  each  new  variety  should 
he  introduced  by  the  teacher  orally  and  without  learning.  And, 
as  he  walks  aV)OUt  supervising  the  work,  the  teacher  should 
continually  refer  to  points  in  the  book  that  the  pupil  seems  to 
have  overlooked  or  forgotten,  and  that  bear  on  the  matter  in 
hand.  \\'hen  pupils  acquire  the  haljit  of  thus  searching  the 
book  themselves  for  the  help  they  need,  they  will  1)0  fairly  on 
the  way  to  success. 

If  the  directions  given  above,  and  the  suggestions  appended 
to  the  chapters  that  follow,  be  heeded  by  both  teacher  and 
pupil,  it  will  be  found  that  composition-writing  is  a  pleasure, 
and  not  something  to  be  dreaded. 


CHAPTER  I. 
THE  VISUALIZATION. 

I.  Seeing  with  the  mind's  eye.  — Close  your  eyes,  rest 
your  head  on  your  hand,  try  to  forget  your  surroundings,  and 
then  notice  what  vou  see  in  your  mind  for  the  followino;  sen- 
tence; — 

"Aunt  Polly  sab  in  her  little  back  parlor  paring  apan- 
ful  of  red  apples  before  the  fire." 

You  should  try  to  see  clearly: — 

(a)  Where  all  the  articles  of  furniture  are  locuted; 
where  the  doors  and  windows  are;  whether  the  latter 
have  curtains,  for  instance;  whether  the  floor  is  bare  or 
carpeted;  how  the  walls  look,  and  so  forth. 

(b)  What  sort  of  person  Aunt  Polly  is;  whether  she,  for 
example,  is  tall  or  short,  fat  or  thin,  a  negro  woman  or 
white;  how  she  is  dressed;  how  old  she  is,  and  so  forth. 

(c)  Where  you  imagine  yourself  to  stand;  whether  you 
seem  to  be  looking  into  the  room  through  a  door  or  a 
window,  or  are  inside;  whether  Aunt  Polly  has  her  back 
toward  you,  and  where  the'articles  of  furniture  and  the 
doors  and  windows  are  located  with  reference  to  your 
point  of  view. 

The  more  of  such  details  you  can  see,  the  better  the  visual- 
ization will  be  done. 

You  must  not  think  that  you  ought  all  to  have  the  same 
picture  of  Aunt  Polly  and  her  back  parlor  in  your  mind.  On 
the  contrary,  no  two  of  you  will  have  evolved  the  same  mental 
arrangement  of  the  room  with  its  contents.  Many  of  you  will 
see  Aunt  Polly  as  a  tall,  gray-haired  woman; — that  is  how  she 

19 


20 


FIKST  STKPS  IN  EX(;LIS11  (  OM  1'(  )SITI(  )n:. 


appears  to  me.  Others  may  find  her  to  he  u  jolly  colored 
woman.  Some  of  you  will  have  the  scene  in  the  fall;  others, 
in  the  winter.  But  the  greater  the  variety  in  your  visualiza- 
tions, the  better. 

Some  details  nobody  will  have  in  his  picture — such  as 
Brussels  carpet,  oil  paintings,  or  a  piano.  There  will  always  be 
a  certain  consistency  in  the  visualization. 

II.  Making  a  pen  picture  of  the  mind  picture. —When 
you  have  si'cn  all  you  can,  you  sliouldsit  up  and  try  to  remem- 
ber the  details  carefully.  When  all  have  finished,  you  will  be 
ready  for  the  next  step, —viz.,  to  make  a  diagram  ^  of  what 
you  saw, 2  being  careful  to  locate  yourself  in  the  diagram.  I, 
for  instance,  always  see  Aunt  Polly  and  the  back  parlor,  thus: 


1 — Sewing-machine. 

2 — Chairs. 

3— Aunt  Polly. 

4_Stove. 

5— Stand. 

6 — China  Cupboard. 

7 — Windows. 

8 — Doors. 


>B 


n 

2 

®      ,: 

o 

'     SO 

D 

*             7. 

1      6 

+  Myself  (point  of  view). 


III.      Picturing   in  words. — Next   tell  how  you  saw  Aunt 


1  Writers  of  books  always  have  such  pictures  in  mind.  Sometimes  they 
make  careful  drawings  to  have  at  hand  while  they  work— I  have  seen  llenrik 
Ibsen  doing  this.  Sometimes  they  even  have  them  printed,  as  in  Treasure  Island 
dnd  The  Prisoner  of  Zenda. 

'i  Tbe  teacher  should  ask  questions  to  bring  out  the  details. 


THE  VISUALIZATION.  21 

Polly  and  mention  all  the  things  in  the  parlor.  Write  just 
as  you  would  talk. 

Try  to  have  as  many  simple  sentences  as  possible  in  your 
composition  and  endeavor  not  to  use  too  many  ands.  Do  not 
say  there  icas  or  there  were  too  often. 

The  sentence  given  on  page  19,  '^Aunf  Polly  sat,''  etc., 
should  occur  somewhere  in  what  you  write. 

IV.  Reviewing  and  correcting. — When  you  have  finished, 
j-ou  should  read  over  carefully  what  you  have  written  and 
should  see  to  it:  — 

(1).  That  all  words  are  spelled  correctly.  And  here  you 
should  look  up  in  the  dictionary  any  and  every  word  that  you 
may  not  be  sure  of. 

(2).  That  every  sentence  begins  with  a  capital  letter  and 
ends  with  a  period,  exclamation   mark  or  interrogation  mark. 

(3),  That  you  say  there  ivere  when  you  have  several  items 
to  mention,  as  in  "There  were  a  chair,  two  tables, and  a  stand 
at  one  side;"'  and  were  when  you  have  a  plural  subject,  as 
in  'The  peelings  were  dropping." 

V.  Selecting  a  title. — Then  you  should  give  j^our  com- 
position a  title  and  should  write  this  in  the  middle  of  the  page 
a  little  above  your  first  line.  This  title  ma}^  consist  of  any 
short  expression  that  describes  the  composition,  such  as:  "Aunt 
Folly,  '  simply;  or,  "My  Aunt's  Back  Parlor;"  or,  "A  Grlimpse 
into  m}' Aunt's  Sitting-Room."  Each  important  word  should 
begin  with  a  capital  letter.  Finally,  write  your  name  at  the 
bottom  on  the  right-liand  side  of  tlie  page. 

When  finished  the  composition  should  sound  somewhat  as 
follows:  — 


22  FIRST  STEPS  IN  ENGLISH  COMPOSITION. 

AI'NT    POLLY. 

Aunt  I'olly  s;il  in  llic  littk-  back  parlor  peeling  apples  before 
tlie  firo.  Slie  had  iier  feet  on  the  fender  of  the  stove.  Her  l)ack 
was  turned  toward  me.  Her  sleeves  were  rolled  up,  and  the 
parings  from  her  apples  were  dropping  into  a  pan  in  her  lap. 
She  was  a  tall,  gray-haired  old  lady,  with  a  white  cap  on  Ik  r 
head  and  a  l)lack  shawl  about  her  shoulders.  There  were  two 
windows  in  the  farther  side  of  the  room.  Through  them  I 
could  see  a  garden  full  of  phlox,  asters,  and  zinnias,  and  beyond 
it  a  dusty  village  street.  In  one  corner  of  the  parlor  stood  a 
cupboard  filled  with  china  dishes  and  tin  cooking  utensils  ;  in 
the  other  was  around  table  with  a  red  cloth  over  it  and  a  cactus 
in  a  pot  on  it.  On  the  left  of  the  room  was  a  sewing-machine 
with  some  work,  which  looked  like  an  apron,  still  under  the 
needle  and  hanging  down  toward  the  floor.  Harry  Smith. 

SUGGESTIONS  FOR  OTHER  VISUALIZATIONS. 

1.  Carl  was  flying  his  kite  along  the  dusty  road. 

2.  He  rowed  across  to  where  the  cabin  stood. 

3.  There  was  a  high  gravel  slope  down  to  the  river. 

4.  A  single  tall  pine  stood  by  the  corner  of  their  tent. 

5.  Grace  lay  sick  in  her  l)ed. 

G.      Harry  threw  out  his  hook  for  another  l)ite. 

7.  Ethel  sat  reading  -  Eight  Cousins"  by  the  lamplight. 

8.  In    the  woods  there  were   great,  ])lack    patches    where 
brush  piles  had  been  burned. 

9.  Two  little  boys  were  fishing  a  nickle  out  of  a  crack. 

10.      Mr.    Hansen's  children  had  put  up  a  swing  against  the 

barn. 

[To  THE  Teacher.— The  above  list  of  suggestions  is  given  more  to  indicate 
howsuc'ii  sentences  for  visui-.lizntion  siioiild  be  formulated,  than  to  prescribe 


THE  VISUALIZATION.  23 

any  set  subjects.  It  would  be  better  if  the  teacher  should  give  out  sentences  of 
his  own,  and  thus  cause  the  work  of  the  class  to  be  fully  spontaneous  each  day. 

Pupils  should  be  cautioned  against  bringing  in  outside  matters.  They  will 
have  a  desire  to  tell— in  connection  with  Aunt  Polly,  for  instance— that  Uncle 
George  came  in,  that  he  and  .\unt  Polly  talked,  that  he  had  gathered  the  apples 
the  day  before,  that  he  was  going  to  market  with  some  tomorrow,  and  so  forth. 
The  teacher  should  make  it  clear  that  the  pvipils  must  confine  themselves  to 
what  is  in  their  minds— must  not  make  things  up.  This  can  be  accomplished  if 
sufficient  time  be  devoted  to  diagramming  the  visualizations. 

There  should  be  some  ten  exercises  on  simple  visualization  before  the  work 
given  in  Chapter  II.  be  taken  up.  In  his  correcfons  the  teacher  should  confine 
himself  strictly  to  such  faults  in  spelling,  capitalization,  and  the  use  of  the 
period  as  he  niaij  notice.  He  should  point  out  the  most  evident  grammatical 
errors,  such  as  the  very  elementary  ones  mentioned  on  page  21.  The  teacher 
should  also  urge  conformity  to  the  points  of  style  given  on  page  iO.  He  should 
teach  the  use  of  the  semi-colon  and  comma  us  the  division  marks  of  the  com- 
pound sentence  (ru'es  9  and  10,  page  66). 

Other  mistakes  may  be  mentally  noted  but  should  be  reserved  for  correction 
till  later.  Let  the  instructor  beware  of  overwhelming  his  pupils  with  a  multi- 
tude of  criticisms,  thus  discouraging  them.  After  all,  the  chief  object  in  these 
ten  exercises  is  to  get  the  class  accustomed  somewhat  to  the  work,  especially  to 
the  mechanical  process  of  composing.] 

SDGOBSTIVE    QUESTIONS    FOR   THE   TEACHER. 

Chapter  I— 1.  What  do  you  see  in  your  mind  for  "horse"?  Of  what  color  is 
he?    In  which  direction  does  he  face?    How  much  of  him  do  you  see? 

2.  What,  similarly,  do  you  see  in  your  mind  for  "table",  "stove"? 

3.  How  do  you  see  your  home  in  your  mind— from  what  side,  in  what  kind 
of  weather,  etc.  ? 

4.  What  do  you  .see  in  your  mind  for  alistracl  nouns  like  "beauty",  "cour- 
age", "glory",  "truth",  "height",  "thickness",  "whiteness"? 

.5.    For  i)roper  nouns  like  -Shakespeare",  "Kurope",  "Chicago"? 

6.  Can  abstract  nouns,  in  fact,  be  visualized?  Or,  are  they  always  rep- 
resented in  the  mind  by  the  picture  of  some  ordinary  concrete  noun?  Do  they 
themselves  represent  anything  actually  In  the  mind?  (See,  further,  on  this  i)oint. 
James'  Psycliology,  Vol.  I,  p.  ^81):  or  Holfding's  Psycliology  V.  B.  9.  The  truth  of 
this  was  discovered  by  Bishop  Berkeley  in  the  year  1710.) 

7.  Why  will  a  boy  in  Maine  hardly  be  able  to  visualize  a  sod-house? 

8.  Where  does  the  difliciilty  in  visualizing  seem  to  lie  mainly— In  making 
the  mind  work,  or  in  watcliing  it  as  it  works? 


CHAPTER  IT. 
THE  INDIVIDUALIZING  TOUCH. 

Suppose  that,  in  writing  the  eoinposition  on  page  22,  I  had 
put  in  some  details  like  these  : — 

Aunt  Polly,  an  old  negro  woman  with  a  imrt  on  her 
nose,  a  tom-cat  beside  her  with  hia  back  arched  and  his 
tail  ftickino  str((i{/ht  up,  blue  dishes  in  tlie  cupboard  with 
pictures  of  windiniUti  on  than,  on  the  floor  a  pan  with  a 
large,  three-cornered  nick  in  it,  etc. 

Notice  how  you  find  yourself  smiling  a  little,  perhaps,  the 
moment  you  read  the  words  in  italics  ;  how  your  imagination 
is  kindled  ;  how  you  feel  more  interested. 

Details  such  as  these  may  be  added  to  any  composition  so 
as  to  increase  the  interest.  All  the  compositions  which  were 
written  about  Aunt  Polly  no  doubt  made  mention  of  the  fur- 
niture, and  so  forth.  But  it  is  not  likely  that  a  single  one  of 
you  thought  of  putting  in  anything  like  the  above.  And  yet 
the  important  thing  is  to  insert  something  like  this  that  is 
original,  out  of  the  ordinary,  and  that  will  arouse  the  interest 
of  the  people  who  hear  it. 

But  you  must  beware  of  introducing  anything  that  is  fool- 
ish, absurd,  or  improbable. 

These  little  odd  details  are  called  individualizing  touches, 
l)ecause  they  will,  if  you  are  bright  enough  to  see  them  in 
your  mental  picture,  make  your  composition  different  from  the 
compositions  of  the  other  pupils. 

I.  Individualizing  details.— Now  close  your  eyes  as  be- 
fore, notice  carefully  what  you  see  in  ^ur  mind's  eye  for  the 

24  "^^^ 


THE  IXDIVIDUALIZIXG  TOUCH.  25 

following  sentence,  and  then  tell  it  with  as  many  individualiz- 
ing touches  as  possible  : — 

Up  in  grandmother's  garret  stood  an  old  spinning- 
wheel  with  spider-webs  on  it. 

The  individualizing  details  should  deal  with  the  floor,  the 
walls,  the  roof,  and  the  contents  of  the  garret. 

II.  Selecting  a  title. — When  you  have  finished,  give  the 
composition  a  title  as  before,  remembering  that  all  words,  ex- 
cept the  unimportant  ones,  should  begin  with  a  capital.  Then 
read  over  what  3'ou  have  written,  bearing  carefully  in  mind 
all  that  3'ou  learned  in  Chapter  I. 

III.  Forming  the  habit  of  writing  correctly. — From  this 
time  on,  try  to  get  j'ourself  into  the  habit  of  putting  in  j^our 
punctuation  marks,  your  capitals,  and  your  correct  grammar 
as  3'ou  go  along.  Some  day  you  will  be  writing  for  a  news- 
paper, dictating  a  business  letter,  writing  one,  or  composing 
it  on  a  typewriting  machine  ;  and  3'ou  will  then  not  have  time 
to  go  back  and  correct  what  3-ou  write 

ADDITIONAL  SUGGESTIONS  FOR  PRACTICE. 

1.  A  dried-up  wooden  pump,  with  a  broken  handle,  stood 
by  the  back  door. 

2.  Mr.  Jenkins  remained  talking  a  moment  with  the 
teacher,  at  her  desk. 

3.  Old  Charlie  in  the  barn  was  l)usy  lighting  flies  witli  his 
tail. 

4  Mr.  Townsend  had  allowed  the  bo3's  to  fit  up  a  general 
workshop  in  the  basement. 


2(5  FIRST  STKIS  IN   KXdI.lSlI  (OMrosiTION. 

T).  On  till'  principal  eorucr  in  llif  cily  a  new  U-n-story 
olllci'-huiUling  was  going  up. 

[To  TUE  TEACHER. — Til is  mat t cT  of  individualizing  touches  is  of  such  great 
Importance  in  all  the  wrhingof  practical  life  that  not  less  than  ten  exercises 
should  be  devoted  to  it.  .\s  before,  the  teacher  may  preferably  substitute 
sentences  of  his  own  for  those  given  above. 

Concerning  the  corrections  and  suggestions  evolved  during  the  work  of 
Chapter  II.,  he  should  be  as  unrelaxingly  vigilant  as  before. 

In  addition,  let  him  by  degrees  throughout  this  chapter,  introduce  (a)  under 
Punctuation  (page  64)  rules  4,  ii  and  Ifi  and  (1))  under  Elementary  Klietoric 
(page  63)  rules  18,  19,  44,  45,  and  40.] 

SUGGESTIVE    QUESTIONS. 

1.  One  walVis  down  the  street  and  takes  a  look  at  a  store-window.  How 
many  of  the  objects  does  one,  even  a  half  minute  afterwards,  remember? 

2.  .\ro  the  things  remembered  the  smaller,  more  iflteresting  objects,  or, 
usually,  only  the  large,  ordinary  ones? 

3.  Docs  one,  on  the  whole,  ever  sec  details?, 

4.  Which  is  the  more  interesting  object— a  tin  pan  with  a  dent  inii,  or  an  un- 
injured one? 

.5.     Which  laegins  to  suggest  the  human  element? 

6.  Which  begins  to  suggest  character— "dishes"' or  "dishes  with  >)lnc  wind 
mills  on  them"  ? 

7.  Whicli  arc  the  more  suggestive — descriptive  adjectives  or  individualizing, 
touches? 

8.  Why,  now,  is  it  that  individualizing  details  make  a  composition  inter- 
esting? 

(For  illlustrations  of  Individualizing  Touches,  see  the  Exercises  at  the  close 
of  the  volume.) 


CHAPTER  III. 

MOVING  PICTURES. 

These  are  simply  visualizations  in  which  there  is  as  much 
movement  as  possible.  In  the  visualization  of  Aunt  Polly's 
back  parlor,  everything  except  the  insignificant  apple-parings 
was  stationary.  Here  the  object  is  to  have  everything  that 
can  move  in  motion. 

I.  Visualizing  objects  in  motion.  —Thus,  if  I,  for  instance, 
visualize  the  sentence,  ••The  train  moved  slowly  out  over  the 
bridge,"  I  see  in  m}'  mind  a  river  current  with  boats  upon  it, 
smoke  from  factory  chimneys,  swaying  trees  on  the  bank,  and 
so  forth.  When  written  down,  this  would  appear,  in  part,  as 
follows : — 

We  sat  on  the  bank  gazing  off  to  where  the  bluffs  on  the 
farther  shore  looked  purple  in  the  evening  glow.  The 
thick  smoke  from  the  factory  chimneys  streamed  out  in 
black  stripes  across  the  i-edness  of  the  sky.  A  man  was 
slowly  rowing  a  boat  up  stream:  we  could  see  the  regular 
dip  of  his  oars  and  the  glitter  of  the  blades.  The  oaks 
swayed  gently  in  the  breeze  and  a  long  shimmering  cob- 
web fluttered  out  past  ua  into  the  water.  Up  above,  a 
steam-boat  was  puffing  its  way  slowly  around  the  bend, 
shooting  off  its  two  tidal  waves  diagonally  toward  the 
shore.  The  train  n^n-ed  out  upon  the  long  bridge. 
The  brownish-black  river-water  swirled  for  a  mouient 
among  the  jiiors  and  flowed  on  iigain   placidly   forever. 

II.  Seeing  the  things  of  interest.  — In  these  visualizations 

of  movement,  it  will  often  be  necessary  for  you  to  force  your- 
self into  seeing  the    details   in    motion.      The    individualizing 

27 


28  FIRST  STKPS  IX  KN<iLISII  COMPOSITION'. 

touches  would  consist  here,  as  in  cliupter  1.,    of  the  small,  odd 
items  of  inovenient  that  people  in  <reneral  do  not  notice. 

ADDITIONAL  SUGGESTIONS  FOR  PRACTICE- 

1.  The  tickets  to  the  main  tent  wci-e  ln'inji'  sold  from  a 
wagon  near  the  entrance. 

2.  The  Fast  Mail  stood  puffing  by  the  station  platform. 

3.  At  the  corner  of  the  city  market-place,  several  men  were 
sampling  melons. 

4.  In  the  river-bluff  park,  among  the  great  trees,  the  j)ic- 
nic  was  in  full  swing. 

5.  Some  of  the  smaller  hoys  always  spent  the  recess  play- 
ing marbles  by  the  north  wall  of  the  school-house. 

[To  THE  Teacher. — Here,  and  indeed  in  all  this  worli,  thefoursteps — visual- 
ization, composition,  correcting,  and  reading— should  be  strictly  followed.  It 
will  be  best  not  to  introduce  any  new  elements  of  style  in  these  live  exercises. 
In  fact,  if  the  pupils  be  urged  to  write  in  simple  sentences  as  much  as  possible, 
many  (if  the  common  mistakes  will  of  themselves  fail  fo  appear 

1.  Determine  the  average  length  of  the  sentences  in  the  Introduction  to  this 
book.  This  can,  of  course,  be  done  by  counting  the  number  of  words  in  each 
sentence,  adding  them  together,  and  dividing  the  sum  by  the  number  of  sentences. 
Also  note  the  per  cent,  of  simple  sentences. 

2.  In  the  same  way  determine  your  own  average  sentence-length;  and,  to 
do  this,  use  not  less  than  two  hundred  sentences  selected  from  some  rather  ex- 
tended and  connected  pieces  you  may  have  written.  Notice  also  your  percentage 
of  simple  sentences. 

3.  Determine  the  tame  two  facts  for  Kipling's  Plain  Tales  from  the  HilU, 
Stevenson's  Treasure  Island,  Ford's  Janice  Meredith,  Doyle's  Advent ures  of  Sher- 
lock Holmes,  or  any  other  of  the  late  popular  novels. 

4.  Now  go  to  some  of  the  older  pieces  of  fiction;  as.  Th.f  Lant  of  the  Mohicans, 
Vanity  Fair,  David  Copperfleld,  Kenilworth. 

5.  Next  investigate  some  general  prose  literature;  as,  Macaulay's  Essays, 
DeQulncey's  Confessions  of  an  English  Opium  Eater,  or  Webster's  Reply  to 
Ilayne. 


MOVING  PICTURES.  20 

6.  Lastly,  examine  some  old  writers;  as,  Milton  in  Paradise  Lost,  Sir  Thomas 
Browne  in  Eeligio  Medici,  Chaucer  in  The  Canterbury  Tales. 

When  the  pupils  have  a  dozen  or  more  compositions  ready,  they  will  be  inter- 
ested in  finding  their  own  average  sentence-length  and  percentage  of  simple 
sentences.  A  little  of  this  work,  given  from  time  to  time,  will  be  stimulating 
and  will  prove  a  revelation  In  working  with  stories,  the  dialogue  portions 
should  be  omitted,  and  only  the  solid  paragraphs  used.  The  average  length  of  a 
sentence  for  good  modern  prose  will  be  about  2J  words,  and  the  percentage  of 
simple  sentences  about  35.  Jtany  authors,  in  all  departments  of  literature,  have 
been  investigated  with  respect  to  these  two  particulars  by  Prof.  L.  A.  Sherman: 
and  the  results  may  be  found,  for  the  purpose  of  comjiarison,  in  his  Analytics  of 
Literature.    See  also  Halleck's  English  Literature,  pp.  219-220. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  ENVIRONMENT  SKETCH— A. 

If,  iu  walking  down  llu-  street,  1  should  see  a  house  with 
the  yard  surrounding  it  full  of  broken  bricks,  with  the  gate 
(jtf  its  hinges,  and  with  an  old  sock  stuffed  into  a  l)roken  win- 
dow-pane, I  should  know  the  character  of  the  inhabitant  as 
well  as  if  I  had  been  ac([uainted  with  him  for  years.  These 
surroundings  tell  me  that  he  is  shiftless  and  good-for-nothing. 

If  this  were  a  composition  instead  of  a  real  occurrence,  I 
might  insert  some  additional  items,  such  as  cow- tracks  and 
weeds  in  the  yard,  every  second  board  in  the  sidewalk  loose, 
door-step  broken  down. — and  these  would  still  more  clearly 
show  the  man's  character,  his  worldly  circumstances,  and  per- 
haps even  his  business. 

Such  a  composition  would  lie  an  environment  sketch.  It 
would  be  putting  together  a  set  of  surroundings  in  such  a  way 
as  U)  make  them  reveal  the  character,  appearance,  business,  or 
worldly  circumstances  of  the  person  living  in  their  midst. 

I.  Character  shown  by  the  surroundings.  — Now  write  a 
description  of  a  boys  room  so  as  to  show  that  he  is  a  student, 
is  religious,  is  slovenly  in  his  habits,  and  has  weak  e3'es  and 
red  hair.  And  in  doing  this,  you  must  confine  yourself  strictly 
to  describing  the  room  with  the  furniture  and  other  objects  iu 
it.  You  must  not  say  a  word  about  the  boy  himself;  he  is  not 
there.  1     But  you  must  describe   his  surroundings  in  the  room 

inere  tlic  teacher  should  be  on  his  guard.  The  i>upils  are  almost  sure,  at 
first,  to  describe  the  person  instead  of  his  environment.  But  this  defeats  the 
purpose  of  the  compo.sition;  they  do  not  exercise  their  faculty  Qf  invention,  but 
merely  repeat  the  items  of  description  given. 

30 


THE  P:XVI!J0XMENT  sketch.— a.  31 

in  such  a  way  that  we  shall  know,  without  3'our  telling  us,  that 
he  has  weak  eyes  and  red  hair,  is  religious,  studious,  and  slov- 
enly in  his  habits. 

You  should  make  use  of  the  individualizing  touch  here,  to 
add  strength.  Notice  how  effective  it  was  above  to  say  an  old 
sock  was  stuffed  into  the  broken  window.  Use  plain,  striking 
words.  Say  the  boy  had  daubs  of  ink  on  his  books  ;  say  he 
had  a  pair  of  grrany  spectacles  ;  say  his  carpet  was  splotched 
with  mud,  and  so  forth. 

This  will  form  the  central  and  important  paragraph  of  your 
composition.  But,  in  addition,  jon  should  write  an  introduc- 
tory paragraph,  explaining  how  you  came  to  be  where  the  boy 
lived,  and  how  it  happened  that  you  looked  into  his  room. 

You  might,  for  instance,  make  yourself  out  to  be  visiting 
your  aunt,  who  keeps  a  boarder,  iuto  whose  room  for  some  rea- 
son you  happen  to  peep  Or,  you  might  be  a  traveling-man 
staying  at  a  countr}'  hotel,  or  a  ])ook-agent,  or  a  visitor  at  a 
summer  resort.  Any  one  of  a  dozen  such  little  inventions 
would  do. 

And  it  holds  true  here,  as  everywhere,  that  the  more  unusual 
these  circumstances  are,  the  better  they  will  be  liked  by  your 
hearers.  The  principle  is,  that  in  compositions  written  in  the 
first  person,  every  movement  of  the  writer  should  be  carefully 
accounted  for. 

The  composition  should  close  with  a  short  third  paragraph, 
in  which  you  explain,  in  the  same  way,  how  you  get  away 
about  your  regular  business.  The  beginning  of  a  paragraph  is 
marked  by  writing  the  first  word  about  a  balf  inch  farther  in  from 
the   left  edge  of  the  page  than  the  body  of  the  composition. 

II.  Selecting  a  title.  — Next  give  3'our  composition  a  title. 
In  this  case  you  might  use.       Mrs.    Croton's    Star.  Boarder, 


32  FIRST  STEPS  IN  ENGLISH  COMPOSITION. 

A  Fellow  Student,  or  Jim,  A  Social  Light  in  Chiy  Center. 
Anything  that  might  fit  the  composition  would  be  proper. 
Your  name  should  be  sigaed  as  before. 

TIT.  Reviewing  and  correcting. — In  correcting  your  work, 
carefully  observe  the  points  already  giveu  and  in  addition 
these : — 

(1).  You  should  see  to  it  that  everything  you  have  stand- 
ing as  a  sentence  really  is  a  sentence.  One  often  finds  con- 
structions like  the  following:  "  While  my  aunt  busied  herself 
at  the  table.  A  young  man  who  sat  near  by  spoke  up  and 
said."  A  moment's  thought  will  show  that  the  first  part  is  not 
a  sentence  by  itself  at  all,  but  is  merely  a  part  of  the  whole, 
going  together  with  "spoke  up  "  in  that  it  shows  the  time  of 
the  young  man's  speaking. 

In  other  cases  it  is  a  final  clause  that  is  dropped  off  the  sen- 
tence it  belongs  with,  and  made  to  stand  b}'  itself  ;  as, — 

"Enclosed  find  one  set  of  shadow-effect,  half-tone  designs, 
showing  the  correct  modeling  of  several  flowers,  indicating 
where  the  light  and  shadows  fall.  Illustrating  the  degrees  of 
shading  in  the  tones."  Here  the  period  should  be  a  comma, 
which  should  be  followed  by  the  connective  "and." 

(2).  On  the  other  hand,  everything  that  is  a  sentence 
should  stand  as  one.  Constructions  like  the  following  are  met 
with  in  almost  every  variety  of  composition:  "The  door  of  my 
neighbor's  room  stood  open  and  I  looked  in,  several  pairs  of 
old  shoes  stood  about  on  the  floor."  Such  writing  is  exceed- 
ingly careless ;  the  latter  half  of  this  sentence  is  evidently  a 
sentence  by  itself  and  should,  as  such,  have  begun  with  a 
capital  and  been  preceded  by  a  period, 


THE  ENVIRONMENT  SKETCH.— A.  33 

SUGGESTIONS  FOR   PRACTICE. 

1.  Write  the  description  of  a  room  so  as  to  show  that  the 
occupant  is  a  j'oung  lady  who  is  rich,  who  is  given  to  style, 
who  is  rather  frivolous,  and  who  has  recently  lost  her  parents.  * 

2.  Write  the  description  of  a  farm-j'ard  so  as  to  show  that 
the  farmer  is  negligent,  shiftless,  and  worthless  generally. 

3.  Write  the  description  of  a  school  room  so  as  to  show 
that  the  teacher  is  a  man,  that  he  has  poor  discipline,  that 
the  scholars  are  all  girls,  and  that  the  school  lies  in  a  region 
where  there  are  large  stretches  of  oak  and  hickory  woods. 

4.  Write  the  description  of  a  sitting  room  and  a  kitchen  so 
as  to  show  that  the  lady  of  the  house  is  negligent  in  her  habits 
while  the  servant  girl  is  very  neat,  t 

5.  Write  the  description  of  a  railway-car  so  as  to  show  that 
it  had  recently  been  occupied  ])y  a  millionaire. 

6.  Describe  a  sitting-room  so  as  to  show  that  the  family 
using  it  is  large  and  rather  poor,  but  refined  and  well  educated; 
and  that  the  father  is  a  clergyman. 

7.  Describe  a  boy's  room  so  as  to  show  that  it  is  occupied 
by  two  chums,  one  of  whom  is  a  great  student  while  the  other 
is  very  fond  of  out-door  sports. 

8.  Describe  a  village  street  so  as  to  show  that  the  town  is 
poor,  given  to  drink,  rather  free  in  its  moral  beliefs,  and 
that  the  chief  occupation  of  the  people  is  coal-mining. 

9.  Describe  a  house  so  as  to  show  that  it  lies  in  the  woods. 


*  It  is  absolutely  necessary  that  the  teacher  preserve  this  form  in  formulating 
the  subjects.  Always  put  it  thus:  Write  the  description  of  a,  6,  c,  so  as  to  show 
X.  y,  z.  If  this  be  not  done,  the  pui)ils  wiU  fall  into  the  fault  of  direct  descrip- 
tion mentioned  p.  30,  and  thus  the  object  of  the  work  will  be  defeated, 

tin  this  composition  you  might  have  four  paragraphs:— the  introduction,  the 
conclusion,  and  one  each  for  a  description  of  the  sitting-room  and  the  kitchen. 


34  FIRST  STEPS  IN  EXtiLlSII  COMPOSITION. 

distant  from  civilization,  and  that  tlu'  occupant  is  a  man  who 
lives    by  luinting  and  lisliing. 

10.  Describe  a  room  so  as  to  show  that  it  is  the  reception 
oflice  of  a  dentist. 

[To  TiiE  Teacher. — Insistence  upon  conformity  to  the  points  of  style  given 
on  pages '.il  and  32  will  in  all  probability  consume  most  of  the  teacher's  energy 
In  addition,  he  might  introduce  the  matter  embodied  in  rules  6,9,  10,  11,  pages 
li-V-fi,  and  perhaps  2,  D,  20,  22  and  23,  or  a  few  others  tliat  may  occur  more  com- 
monly in  the  worlc. 

SUGGESTIVE    QUESTIONS. 

1.  What  were  some  of  the  individualizing  touches  in  the  fomposition  about 
Aunt  Polly  that  tended  to  show  character? 

2.  How,  then,  might  a  visualization  be  transformed  into  un  environment 
sketch  ? 

3.  Do  you  remember  any  Instance,  within  your  own  observation,  in  which 
you  judged  character  by  environment  ? 

4.  What  is  the  logical  principle  at  the  bottom  of  this  ? 

5  Which  is  better :  "  The  man  wore  a  coat  that  was  somewhat  the  worse  for 
wear,"  or,  "  The  man  wore  a  coat  that  h&d  heen  ripped  up  the  back"?  Which 
gives  the  better  character-hint? 

6.  Comparing  the  expressions  of  the  last  (juestion,  and  the  suggestions  given 
in  the  fifth  paragraph  of  this  chapter,  with  their  less  vigorous  synonyms,  which 
do  you  Hnd  causes  you  to  see  the  act  that  producsd  the  effect  V 

7     What  may  be  the  reason  for  the  greater  force  of  these  plain  words  ? 

8.    Which  are  the  more  effective,  specific  terms  or  general  terms? 


CHAPTER  Y. 
THE  ENVIRONMENT  SIOiTCH— B. 

If  I  should  acculeutall}'  enter  a  room  and  find  upon  the  floor 
two  upturned  chairs,  a  revolver  with  a  blackened  muzzle,  three 
poker  chips,  half  a  pack  of  cards,  and  a  man's  hat  with  a  hole 
through  it,  I  should  at  once  divine  the  whole  tragedy  of  gamb- 
ling and  its  consequences. 

And  conversely,  if -I  wished  to  indicate  that  gambling  with 
a  quarrel  and  subsequent  murder  had  taken  place  in  a  certain 
room,  I  should  only  need  to  put  together  an  environment  simi- 
lar to  the  above,  and  that  would  show  it  with  all  the  plainness 
that  could  be  desired. 

The  environment  sketch,  then,  may  just  as  well  be  made  to 
show  past  happenings  as  character. 

I.  Showing  past  events  by  present  environment.  — Now 
write  the  description  of  a  school-house  and  3'ard  in  this  way  so 
as  to  show  that  teacher  and  pupils  have  just  been  frightened 
away  by  the  sudden  arrival  of  a  party  of  Indians. 

Here,  as  in  the  Environment  Sketch — A,  you  sliould  write 
an  introductory  paragraph  explaining  how  you  came  to  see  this 
school-house  and  its  surroundings.  You  might  be  a  country 
book-agent,  a  visitor  to  friends  in  the  country  with  whom  you 
went  to  see  the  school,  the  county  superintendent  making 
his  customary  rounds,  or  any  other  character  that  you  may  pre- 
f(-i-.  And  here,  as  in  all  other  compositions,  the  more  un- 
usual tliis  character  is,  the  better  will  3'our  story  be  liked. 

To  close  with,  do  not  forget  t(j  write  a  short  paragraph  tell- 
ing how  you  left  the  school-house  and  wont  aljout  your  regular 


36  FIRST  STHl'S  IX  ENia.lSlI  (OMrOSITIOX. 

business.  Ami,  in  the  l)0(ly  of  your  composition,  you  may,  if 
you  choose,  have  two  paragraphs — one  devoted  to  the  yard,  and 
the  other  to  the  school- room. 

You  must  )t()t  sdi/  (I  icord  al)out  the  Indians  themselves  nor 
about  the  children  and  the  teacher. -i=  Merely  deseril)e  the  school 
and  yard  in  such  a  way  that  those  wlio  hear  you  read  will  know 
that  the  Indians  were  there  and  that  the  teacher  and  the  child- 
ren were  frightened  away.  This  is  the  same  direction  as  the 
one  given  on  page  30. 

II.  Keeping  out  old  mistakes. — In  reading  over  and  im- 
proving this  composition,  you  should  first  see  to  it  that  the 
faults  which  you  have  overcome  already  do  not  creep  in  again. 
Then  observe  the  following  suggestions:  — 

(1)  Do  not  use  participial  constructions  if  you  can  readily 
avoid  them.  Instead,  employ  a  regular  subject  and  predicate. 
Thus,  many  object  to  saying,  "Finding  the  door  to  my 
neighbor's  room  open.  I  stepped  up  and  peeped  in '" ;  or, 
"While  visiting  my  aunt  in  the  country,  I  once  called  on  the 
school-teacher. "'  Instead,  you  can  say:  "I  found  the  door 
open  and  peeped  in;"  or,  '-While  I  was  visiting,"  and  so 
forth.  This  participial  construction  is,  in  its  origin,  foreign  to 
our  language.  It  is  particularly  vicious  when  used  at  the  be- 
ginning of  a  sentence.  But  more  than  this,  it  often  leads  the 
writer  into  the  most  reraarkal)le  al)surdities — as  witness  those 
given  on  page  80. 

(2)  Do  not  jumble  toj,\'tlier  in  the  same  sentence  a  mass  of 
statements  that  naturally  will  not  mix.  Such  a  mixture  would 
bj  th3  following:  — 


The  teacher  should  be  on  his  guanJ  liere  also, 


THE  ENVIRONMENT  SKETCH.— B.  37 

"  My  Aunt  Fully  was  a  gray-haired  old  woman  who-  kept 
boarders  and  taught  a  Sunday-school  class,  and  kept  two 
pigs  in  the  back-yard,  which  she  fattened  for  Christmas, 
when  she  always  invited  her  nieces  and  nephews,  and 
then  we  had  fresh  sausages." 

Ill  this  wa}'  you  might  have  your  whole  composition  in  a 
single  sentence.  Only  little  children  talk  thus;  and  it  does 
not  show  much  skill  or  taste  in  arrangement  to  write  like  this. 
Make  a  sentence  for  each  statement,  or  at  least  for  each  group 
of  two  or  three  statements  that  belong  together.  If  the  ad- 
vice to  write  simple  sentences  given  on  page  21  be  heeded,  this 
fault  will  not  often  creep  in. 

II.  Avoid  rambling. — When  you  are  writing  a  composition 
with  a  special  object  in  view,  do  not  put  in  details  that  do  no 
good.     Stick  to  your  text. 

Thus,  when  you  were  describing  the  school-room  so  as  to 
show  that  Indians  had  been  there,  it  would  have  been  a  waste 
of  time  to  have  said  that  the  school-house  had  a  chimney  made 
of  red  brick,  that  there  was  a  picture  of  Washington  or  Lincoln 
on  the  wall,  or  that  the  teacher's  table  had  ink-spots  on  it. 
These  points  do  not  show  that  Indians  had  been  there.  And 
to  make  that  apparent  was  your  special  business. 

To  show  this  you,  of  course,  use  as  many  details  as  you  can 
possibly  invent;  but  you  should  omit  everything  that  does  not 
contribute  to  this  end.  If  you  had  said,  however,  that  the  por- 
trait of  Washington  had  an  arrow  sticking  in  it,  it  would  have 
been  very  good. 

ADDITIONAL  SUGGESTIONS  FOR  ENVIRONMENT  SKETCHES. 

1.  Wiite  the  description  of  a  lawn  so  as  to  show  that  a 
children's  jiarty  has  just  l)eon  held  there. 


38  FIKST  STKPS  IN  EXdLISH  COMPOSITION. 

2.  Dt'Sfi'iht'  the  interior  of  u  house  so  as  to  show  that  the 
in-d\veller  is  a  millionaire,  tliat  tiic  house  has  Ijeeu  entered  h}' 
burglars,  and  that  llicy  have  been  frightened  away  suddenly. 

3.  Write  tlie  description  of  a  country  schoolhouse  so  as  to 
sliow  that  a  tramp  has  broken  in  and  spent  the  night  there. 

4.  l)escrii)e  a  street  corner  so  as  to  show  tliat  a  very  bud 
runaway  has  just  occurred  there. 

5.  Describe  a  farm  so  as  to  sliow  tiuit  a  heavy  rain-storm 
has  just  passed  over  it. 

(I.  Write  the  description  of  a  large  barn  so  as  to  sliow  that 
a  country  dance  will  be  held  shortly  in  the  loft  of  the  same. 

7.  Describe  a  room  so  as  to  show  that  a  little  child  lies 
seriously  sick  there. 

8.  Desci'ibe  the  school-room  so  as  to  show  that  it  is  the 
first  day  of  school. 

9.  Describe  a  spot  of  ground  l)y  a  pond  in  the  woods  so  as 
to  show  that  a  murder  has  been  committed  there,  that  the 
murdered  person  was  a  woman,  and  that  the  murderer  was  an 
Indian,  who  had  had  a  gun.  and  iiad  bi-en  accompanied  by  a 
dog  with  a  stub  tail. 

[To  THE  Teacher.— From  now  on  it  will  hardly  be  wortli  while  to  give  direc 
tlons  hownew  points  of  style  should  be  introduced.  Only  let  the  points  always 
be  advanced  gradually,  one  by  one,  as  in  arithmetic  or  geography. 

With  very  small  children  subjects  like  the  following  may  be  tried:  Wriio  the 
description  of  a  spot  of  ground  so  as  to  show  that  the  cat  has  killed  a  bird  thoio. 

SUGGESTIVE    QUESTIONS. 

1.  What  popular  writer  of  stories  relies  for  success  almost  entirely  upon 
skillful  management  of  environment? 

2.  Do  you  ever  infer  past  happenings  from  the  way  things  look? 

3.  What  is  the  artistic  use  of  the  introduction  and  the  conclusion? 

4.  What  principles  should  be  followed  in  teaching  pupils  how  to  paragraph? 

5.  Is  it  necessary  to  "keeii  within  a  pupil's  experiences"  at  this  i^oint? 


THE  ENVIRONMENT  SKETCH.— B.  39 

As  au  example  of  what  environment  maybe  made  to  accomplish  in  setting 
forth  character,  note  the  following  from  Victor  Hugo's  Les  Miserables: 

'•  The  garret,  into  which  Marius  was  now  peering,  was  abject,  dirty,  fetid,  in- 
fectious, dark, and  sordid.  The  furniture  consisted  of  a  straw-bottomed  chair,  a 
rickety  table,  a  few  old  earthenware  dishes,  and  two  indescribable  beds.  The 
only  light  that  entered  filtered  through  a  skylight,  with  but  four  panes  of  glass, 
and  festooned  with  spiders' webs.  The  walls  had  a  leprous  look,  and  were  cov- 
ered with  gashes  and  scars  like  a  face  disfigured  by  some  horrible  disease,  while 
down  them  oozed  a  blear-eyed  dampness.  Obscene  designs,  clumsily  drawn  in 
charcoal,  were  distinguishable  liereand  there  on  them. 

"  Marius'  room  had  a  broken  brick  flooring;  but  here  the  Inhabitants  walked 
on  the  old  plastering  whicli  had  fallen  from  tlia  ceiling  and  grown  black 
under  their  feet.  Here  were  grouped  capriciously  constellations  of  old  shoes, 
boots,  and  frightful  rags.  At  one  side  of  the  room  was  the  chimney,  and  in  the 
fireplace  was  something  of  everything — a  chafing-dish,  a  pot,  some  broken  planks, 
rags  hanging  from  nails,  a  bird-cage,  aslies,  and  even  a  little  fire,  for  two  logs 
were  sadly  smoking  there.  A  circumstance  which  Increased  the  horror  of  this 
garret  was  its  great  size — it  had  angles,  nooks,  bays,  promontories,  black  holes 
under  the  roof,  frightful,  inscrutable  corners,  where  spiders  as  large  as  a  list 
might  lurk,  or  whence  wood-lice  a  foot  long  might  crawl  forth." 

1.  How  many  inhabitants  had  this  room  ? 

2.  What  do  the  earthenware  dishes  show  was  done  here  daily  ? 

3.  What  utensil  in  paragraph  two  points  to  the  same  'I 

4.  What  character  is  indicated  by  the  state  of  the  windows  ? 
.5.  What  points  farther  on  indicate  the  same  ? 

6.  How  did  the  gashes  get  on  the  walls  ? 

7.  What  does  the  clumsiness  of  the  designs  on  the  walls  show  ? 

8.  What  is  shown  by  the  fact  that  the  tire  had  not  gone  out  ? 

9.  What  were  the  rags  hung  in  the  fire-place  for  ? 

10.  What  is  shown  by  the  bird-cage  ? 

11.  What  do  the  ashes  in  the  fire-place  show  ? 

12.  Why  were  the  walls  damp  ? 


CHAITKll   \\. 
THE  DIALOGUE  SKETCH. 

I  once  knew  a  man  who  had  a  son  some  six  years  old.  He 
thought  a  great  deal  of  this  boy^  and  one  time  came  up  to  me 
in  the  street  with  much  enthusiasm,  saying,  * '  I  tell  you  that 
youngster  of  mine  is  the  greatest  little  fellow  !  You  just 
ought  to  hear  him  swear  at  his  motluT  once.' 

Now,  even  if  I  had  not  been  well  acquainted  with  this  man 
and  his  family,  I  should  have  known  his  character  from  the 
above  speech  alone.  More  than  this,  I  should  have  known 
the  boy's  character,  the  mother's  character,  and  the  character 
of  the  family  life,  in  general,  which  these  people  led. 

Here  it  is  as  with  the  environment  sketch.  There  we  de- 
tected character  in  the  surroundings  of  an  individual;  here  we 
see  it  in  his  talk. 

Now,  conversely,  if  I  had  wished  to  write  a  composition 
which  should  represent  a  man  with  the  character  of  the  person 
above  mentioned,  I  should  only  have  needed  to  make  him 
utter  the  words  given,  and  his  weak,  foolish  nature  would 
have  been  apparent. 

The  composition  would  have  been  a  dialogue  sketch  of  one 
speech,  written  so  as  to  show  that  the  speaker  was  weak, 
characterless  and  absurd  in  his  ideals. 

I.  Inventing  a  situation.  — Suppose  it  is  required  to  write 
a  dialogue  sketch  so  as  to  sbow  that  the  speakers  are  two 
boys, — one  of  them  rich,  healthy,  and  overbearing;  the  other 
poor,  sickly,  and  sad  in  his  disposition.  It  will  read  some- 
what as  follows: — 

40 


THE  DIALOGUE  SKETCH.  41 

"  Here,  yon  !     Give  mo  a  worm,  my  bait  is  gone." 

"Yes,  George,  in  just  a  minute;  let  me  fasten  my  pole 
fir.t." 

"Pole!  You  don't  call  an  old  switch  like  that  a  pole, 
do  you?  What  do  I  care  for  your  old  pole,  anyway! 
Hurry  up." 

"All  right."  Thenaftera  few  seconds,  Ted  walkc  d  over 
to  where  George  sat  on  the  bank  holding  his  hook 
in  one  hand,  and  said,  "  Here  George,  and  it's  the  last 
worm  in  the  can,  too." 

"  Well,  go  dig  some  more  !" 

"Why,  I  can't  dig  with  my  lame  foot,  George." 

"  Well,  they've  got  to  be  dug." 

"Can't  you  do  it  yourself  just  this  once,  George,  see- 
ing there's  nobody  else?" 

"I?  No,  Sir !  What's  my  father  a  l)anker  for,  I'd 
like  ta  know?" 

Now,  the  first  thing  I  had  to  do.  in  order  to  get  the  boys  to 
talking  naturally,  was  to  invent  a  situation,  and  thus  give  them 
something  to  talk  about.  I  chose  fishing.  I  could  just  as  well 
have  made  them  be  out  skating  together  (in  which  case  the 
poor  1)oy  could  not,  however,  have  been  lame),  playing  ball  or 
marbles,  or  studying  together  (when  the  poor  bo}'  could  easily 
have  been  made  the  brighter  of  the  two). 

To  invent  some  situation  for  your  speakers  to  be  in,  is  the 
first  thing  to  be  done  in  writing  a  dialogue  sketch.  And  here, 
as  everywhere,  tlie  more  uncommon  this  is,  the  better. 

II.  The  introductory  paragraph. — When  tiiat  has  been  de- 
cided upon,  you  should  write  your  introductory  paragraph  ex- 
plaining how  3'ou  came  to  overhear  the  conversation.  There  is 
notiiing  new  in  this;  it  is  what  5'ou  did  in  connection  with  the 
environment  sketch.  You  can  have  yourself  driving  in  the  coun- 
try, along  by  a  river;  can  stop  to  enjoy  a  view,  and  then  hear  the 


42  FIRST  STEl'S  IN   1:.\(;1.1S1I  (OMl^OSITION. 

conversation.  Or,  you  may  he  a  school-teacher  and  hear  it 
through  an  open  window  in  the  warm  autumn.  Or,  you  can 
be  skating,  your  skate  may  break,  and  while  you  are  fixing  it 
along  can  come  the  l)oys.  You  may  even  be  digging  pota- 
toes in  your  garden  and  overhear  a  conversation  in  a  neigh- 
bor's yard. 

III.  Points  to  be  observed. — In  writing  your  dialogue 
sketch  you  should  oljserve  carefully  the  following  points: — 

(a)  See  to  it  that  your  characters  talk  in  a  natural  way — 
just  as  people  like  them  do  in  real  life.  Thus  it  would 
have  been  absurd  in  the  above  conversation,  to  have  made 
George  sa}',  '  •  I  do  not  hold  a  very  high  opinion  of  your  fish- 
ing-rod."  Xo  boy  ever  talked  like  that;  if  he  should,  he  would 
be  laughed  at.  Instead,  "What  do  I  care  for  your  old  pole, 
anyway,"  is  natural. 

But  this  does  not  mean  that  your  composition  shall  be 
slangy  or  full  of  bad  grammar.  It  is  true  that  most  of  the 
points  given  in  Chapter  IX.  may  be  ignored  in  the  actual 
speeches,  but  the  quotation  marks  will  show  that  you  make  use 
of  this  inferior  English  because  you  wish  to,  and  not  because 
you  do  not  know  anj'  better.  But,  even  then,  everything  should 
be  within  reason. 

(1))  Throughout  the  sketch  should  be  inserted  little  remarks, 
telling  what  the  speakers  do  as  tliey  converse.  One  such  was 
inserted  in  the  composition  above,  and  several  may  be  thrown 
into  any  conversation  that  is  at  all  long.  While  writing  the 
speeches,  you  should  form  a  moving  picture  to  yourself  and 
notice  what  your  characters  do  as  they  talk. 

(c)  Your  characters  are  to  be  set  forth  by  means  of  their 
language.      You  must,  consequently,  neither  describe  them  di- 


THE  DIALOGUE  SKETCH.  43 

rectly*  nor  use  enviroumeut. — that  would  defeat  the  purpose 
of  this  work.  It  wouhl,  of  course,  do  just  as  well;  but,  in 
stud\'ing  decimals,  for  instance,  you  use  decimals  and  not  com- 
mon fractions,  even  though  the  latter  would  get  you  the  an- 
swer just  as  quickly. 

(d).  Each  speech,  together  with  the  explanation,  the  de- 
scription of  the  speakers,  the  accompanying  acts  or  movements, 
if  any  such  are  thrown  in,  should  stand  in  a  paragraph  by  it- 
self. The  words  composing  the  actual  speech,  but  no  others, 
should  stand  in  quotation  marks.  If  tlie  words  thus  enclosed 
form  a  sentence,  this  should  begin  with  a  capital  letter.  The 
entire  quotation  should  l)e  separated  from  the  other  words  of 
the  paragraph  b}-  commas,  thus: — 

"Hurry  up!"  said  George,  "I  have  no  time  to  lose." 

The  words  actually  spoken  are  in  quotation  marks;  commas 
separate  the  quotations  from  the  other  words  of  the  paragraph ; 
each  quotation  is  a  complete  sentence  and  begins  with  a  capi- 
tal, and  the  former  has  an  exclamation  point. 

IV.  Concluding  steps.-  When  you  have  finished  the  compo- 
sition write  your  concluding  paragraph,  explaining  how  you  went 
al)out  your  usual  business.  Then  give  your  story  a  title. 
Tliis  might  be  Ilnrry  and  George,  Two  Boi/s,  Extremes,  My 
Xeif/Iihor'  s  Boy,  or  an3'thlng  else  that  occurs  to  you.  "P'inally. 
sign  3'our  name. 

OTHER  SUGGESTIONS  FOR  A  DIALOGUE. 

1.  Construct  a  conversation  between  a  teacher  and  a  pupil 
so  as  to  show  that  the  former  is  kind  and  good;  the  latter, 
sulky  and  ignorant. 

•  Here  ihe  teacher  should  be  on  his  guard  again. 


44  FIIl.^T  STITS  IX  EXCLISII  ro:\IPO.^ITTON. 

2  Write  ;i  c'lHiversatioii  hctwoen  a  farnuT  ami  his  liirorl 
man  so  as  t  >  sliow  that  the  hitter  knows  more  about  rariniiijj; 
than  the  former. 

;j.  Write  a  conversation  between  two  sisters  so  as  to  sh(»w 
that  one  is  a  spoiled  child ;  the  other,  quiet  and  kind. 

4.  Give  a  conversation  I tetween  two  young  ladies  so  as  to 
show  that  one  of  them  is  very  ignorant  of  country  life. 

5.  The  same,  showing  the  young  lady  to  1)0  very  ignorant 
of  city  life. 

6.  A  conversation  between  a  lady  and  her  servant-girl  so  as 
to  show  that  the  former  is  very  unskilled  in  domestic  affairs. 

7.  A  conversation  between  two  strangers,  who  meet  some- 
where, so  as  to  show  that  one  of  them  has  been  doing  some- 
thing unlawful,  is  afraid  of  pursuit,  yet  is  very  careful  not  to 
reveal  anything  to  the  other. 

8.  Write  a  conversation  among  three  persons  so  as  to  show 
that  one  is  the  proprietor  of  a  country  store;  the  second,  a  clerk 
in  the  store  who  is  partially  deaf;  and  the  third,  a  farmer  who 
is  prosperous,  and  whose  chief  branch  of  farming  is  the  raising 
of  hogs. 

[To  THE  Teacher.— Here,  as  everywhere,  subjects  constructed  on  the  spur  of 
the  moment  are  preferable  to  these  set  ones.  For  very  small  children  subject 
like  these  may  be  given  out:  a  conversation  between  two  pigs  so  as  to  show  what 
kind  of  man  the  farmer  who  owns  them  is;  between  a  cat  and  her  kittens  so  as 
to  show  how  the  baby  is«being  brought  up;  between  our  dog  and  the  neighbors 
dog  so  as  to  show  what  the  boys  living  in  the  large  liouse  around  the  corner  do. 

At  this  point  the  teacher  might  be  on  his  guard  in  respect  to  tiie  inevitable 
misuse  of  shall  and  will,  may  and  cin,,  lay  and  lie,  sit  and  set,  and  so  forth. 

The  effectiveness  of  dialogue  in  literature  may  be  seen  from  a  study  of  the 
following  extract:  — 

Scott  had  taken  the  bunjo  and  was  turning  it  over  and  looking  at  it.'  Alf  and 
I  saw  him  take  out  his  knife  and  cut  the  strings  with  a  twang. 


THE  DIALOGUE  SKETCH.  45 

'•Good  Lawd:'"  exclaimed  the  negro,  and  his  wife  turned  from  the  fire  with  a 
look  of  sorrow  and  reproach. 

"  Ifs  a  shame,  sah,  dat's  what  it  is.  It's  a  plum  shame,  I  doan  kere  ef  yo  is 
white  an'  me  black." 

Scott  tossed  the  banjo  into  the  corner  and  laughed. 

'■Sounds  a  blamed  sight  better  in  deatli  than  in  life,"  he  said. 

•■  But  who's  gwiae  to  pay  for  dat  death  music?"  the  negro  asked. 

"Pay  for  it!"  Scott  turned  tiercel  j'  upon  the  negro  and  Alf  caught  up  his 
gun.    "  Wait !"  I  whispered. 

"Pay  for  it!'"  Scott  raved.  "  You  infernal  old  scoundrel,  do  we  have  to  pay 
every  time  we  turn  round?"  "But  we'll  make  it  all  right  with  you,"  he  added 
Alf  lowered  his  gun. 

"  I  hopes  to  de  Lawd  yo  will,"  said  the  woman,  "  fur  we  needs  it  bad  enough." 

"  You  do?"  Scott  replied.  "  Well,  you'd  better  be  thankful  we  don't  blow  on 
you  for  selling  whiskey  without  a  license." 

"Dar  ain't  no  proof  o'  de  fack  dat  I  has  sol'  none  ter-night,"  said  the  old 
negro,  shaking  his  head. 

"  What's  that!"  Scott  demanded,  wheeling  round. 

"  Skuze  me,  sah,  nothing  er  tall.    Just  ]>assin  de  time  o'  de  day,  sah." 

'•  Oidu't  I  tell  you  we  would  pay  for  everything  we  got?" 

"  Yas,  sah,  an' you's  er  generman,  sah;  yas,  I  thanks  you  fur  gwinter  pay 
me." — From  Opie  Read's  The  Jucklins. 

QUESTIONS. 

1.  Whose  was  this  banjo,  evidently? 

2.  How  did  its  owners  feel  towards  it?— Where  is  this  shown? 

3.  What  does  Scott's  act  tell  us  of  his  character? 

4.  What  glimpse  of  the  negro  character  do  we  also  get  here? 

5.  What  does  "I  doan  kere  ef  yo    is    white"  tell  us  of  the  old  negress' 
character? 

6.  Wliich — the  negro  or  his  wife— seems  to  have  more  spirit? 

7.  What  two  acts  of  Scott's  corroborate  the  inference  indicated   in  qiies 
tion  3? 

8.  What  does  Scott  seem  to  mean  v/hen  he  says  "  It  sounds  butter,  etc."? 

9.  What  further  characterization  of  Scott  at  this  point? 

10.  Why  do  you  suppose  Alf  raised  his  gun?  What  did  he  seem  to  fear  Scott 
was  about  to  do? 

11.  Are  our  sympathies  with  Scott  or  with  the  neijroes? 
I'J.    Where  were  .\lf's  sympathies? 

13.  Where  and  In  wliat  particulars  is  tlie  character  of  the  person  telling  the 
story  seen  to  be  different  from  Alf's? 

14,  In  what  tone  of  voice  does  Scott  say,  "  But  we'll  make  it  all-right,"  etc? 


46  FIRST  STEPS  IN  ENGLISH  COMPOSITION. 

15.  Wliy  did  Alf  lower  his  gun? 

16.  Did  Scott  mean  wliiit  he  said?    What  makes  you  thinlc  so? 

17.  What  corroboralioii  to  the  answer  to  question  0  do  we  lind  at  this  point? 

18.  AVhat  accusation  does  Scott  now  make? 

19.  Tlie  nesjro's  reply,  "  Unr  ain"t  no  proof,"  etc.,  is  a  polite  way  of  saying 
what? 

20.  llow  does  Scott  take  that? 

•Jl.  What  does  the  negro's  abjectness  in  "  Skuze  me,"  etc.,  show  us  in  regard 
to  Scott's  iiiannur? 

•J2.  And  in  regard  to  the  negro's  character? 

23.  Do  we  believe  Scott  means  to  pay  ? 

i4.  Docs  the  negro  believe  it? 


Uut  the  real  value  of  dialogue  is  best  seen  where  it  is  made  to  portray  a 
variety  of  line  shades  and  tones  of  feeling  as  In  the  following  from  Hamlet:  — 
[Francisco  at  hifi post.    Enter  to  him  Bernardo.] 

Ber.       Who's  there? 

Fran.  Nay,  answer  me:  stand,  and  unfold  yourself. 

Ber.       Long  live  the  king: 

Fran.  Hernardo? 

Ber.       He.  5 

Fran.  V  ou  come  most  carefully  upon  your  hour. 

Ber.     'Tis  now  struck  twelve;  get  thee  to  bed,  Francisco. 

Fran.  l''or  this  relief  much  thanks;  't  is  bitter  cold. 

And  I  am  sick  at  heart . 
Ber.       Have  you  had  a  quiet  guard?  10 

Fran.  Not  a  mouse  stirring. 

Ber.       Well,  good  night. 

If  you  do  meet  Horatio  and  Marcellus. 

The  rivals  of  my  watch,  bid  them  make  haste. 
Fran.  I  tliink  I  hear  them.— Stand  ho:     Who  is  there?  l.i 

{Enter  Horatio  and  Marcellus.] 
Ilor.       Friends  to  this  ground. 
ilar.  And  liegemen  to  the  Dane. 

Fran.    Give  you  good  night. 
Mar.  O,  farewell,  honest  soldier; 

Who  hath  reliev'd  you?  20 

Fran.     Hernardo  has  my  place. 

Give  you  good  night. 
Mar.  Holla!     Hernardo! 

Ber.       Say,— 

WliMt.  is  Horatio  there?  S-^ 

Ilor.  A  piece  of  him. 


THE  DIALOGUE  SKETCH.  47 

Ber.    Welcome,  Horatio;  welcome,  good  Marcellus. 

Mar.        What,  has  this  thing  appeared  again  to-night? 

Ber.    I  have  seen  nothing. 

Mar.        Horatio  says  "tis  but  our  fantasy.  30 

And  will  not  let  belief  take  hold  of  him 

Touching  this  dreaded  sight,  twice  seen  of  us; 

Therefore  I  have  entreated  him  along 

With  us  to  watch  the  minutes  of  this  night, 

That  if  again  this  apparition  come,  35 

He  may  approve  our  eyes  and  speak  to  it. 
Hor.    Tush,  tush,  't  will  not  appear. 
Ber.  Sit  down  awhile: 

And  let  ns  once  again  assail  your  ears. 

That  are  so  fortified  against  our  story,  40 

What  we  two  nights  have  seen, 
Hor.  Well,  sit  w-e  down. 

And  let  us  hear  Bernardo  speak  of  this. 
Ber.       Last  night  of  all, 

When  yond  same  star  that's  westward  from  the  pole,  4h 

Had  made  his  course  to  illume  that  part  of  heaven 

Where  now  it  burns,  .Marcellus  and  myself. 

The  bell  then  beating  one.— 

[Enter  Ghost.] 

QUESTIONS. 

1.  How  many  men  are  on  the  scene  as  the  curtain  rises? 

2.  What  is  each  doing? 

3.  Which,  then,  sliould  i)roperly  be  tlie  one  to  challenge? 

4.  But  which  does  challenge? 

.5.    What  has  been  seen  about  the  castle  lately  that  these  men  know?    (L.  2.1 
and  following.) 

6.  Then  what  is  the  cause  of  tlie  odd  procedure  indicated  in  quesiion  num- 
ber four? 

7.  Wnat  word  in  Francisco's  reply  to  the  challenge  should  have  s))ocial 
emphasis? 

8.  What  does  he  want  this  new  arrival  to  tell  him.  since  lie  says  "unfold 
yourself?    Compare  also  his  second  speech. 

9.  What  may  he  have  feared  this  was  that  was  approaching? 

10.  What  state  of  mind  is  he  then  in? 

11.  Does  Franci-sco  ask  for  any  countersign? 

12.  What  state  of  mind  is  Bernardo  in  that  he  gives  it  anyway? 

13.  Where  does  Francisco  compliment  IScrnardo? 

14.  How  do  you  suppose  it  comes  that  Francisco  knows  Uernardo  is  punctual 
to  the  minute? 


48  FIRST  ST1:PS  IN   1;N(;I.IS{I  COMroSITlUX. 

15.  Do  you  take  it  these  men  are  stra;i.^'ers.  and  have  been  goin^  jii  the  eye- 
for-an-eye  and  toath-foi-a-tooth  principle  in  relieving  each  other? 

16.  What  has  mado  Bernardo  so  punctual? 

17.  How  does  Francisco  feel  at  being  relieved? 

18.  What  is  h  ;  "sii-k  at  heart"  over? 

19.  What  accoii.ii  ■;  f  )rat  least  a  iioriion  of  liis  shivers? 

20.  Why  docs  I>c.'iia:do  ask  if  the  guard  has  been  (|niel? 

21.  What  must  Fran.'isco  have  been  doing  intently,  that  lie  can  know  not 
even  a  sound  so  slight  as  the  stirring  of  a  mouse  has  bee.i  heard? 

22.  Suppose  Francisco  had  said  tlie  ai)i)aritlon  had  already  made  its  visit, 
how  would  Bernardo  have  felt? 

23.  Why  does  Bernardo  want  Horatio  and  Marcellus  to  make  haste? 

21.    What  state  of  mind  is  a  man  in  wlio  says  "Well"  the  way  Bernardo  does? 
2.').    IIow  definite  is  the  information  on  the  strength  of  which  Francisco 
challenges? 

26.  Why  does  he  not  quietly  wait  until  he  sees  who  it  is? 

27.  Which  of  the  two  arrivals  is  it  that  does  not  give  much  credence  to  this 
vision? 

28.  Then  why  does  Marcellus  come  in  second? 

29.  How  often  does  Francisco  bid  good  night  before  going? 

30.  Why  does  he  not  go  at  once? 

31.  Which  of  the  two  arrivals  does  Bernardo  seem  most  pleased   to  see? 
Why? 

."52.  What  state  of  mind  does  line  27  reveal? 

33.  Then  what  does  Marcellus  think  when  he  asks  line  28? 

34.  What  is  now  seen  to  be  the  reason  these  men  have  come? 

35.  What  is  Horatio's  attitude  of  mind  toward  the  story  of  the  apparition, 
as  shown  by  line  30? 

36.  AVhat  docs  Bernardo  expect,  that  he  should  ask  them  to  sit  down? 

37.  In  what  spirit  does  Horatio  comply? 

38.  What  makes  Bernardo  so  solemn,  as  he  begins  his  account? 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  DESCRIPTION. 

By  a  description  we  do  not  mean  an  exact,  detailed,  scien- 
tific account  of  some  object,  place,  or  person,  such  as  cyclo- 
piedias  and  text-books  give  for  purposes  of  information.  You 
would  need  to  study  the  subject  you  wished  to  describe  long 
and  thoroughly  before  you  could  make  such  a  description  of 
it.  Instead  we  mean  a  literary  description,  for  purposes  of 
entertainment,  such  as  you  find  in  stories,  books  of  travel, 
magazines,  or  general  literature. 

A  description  is  a  kind  of  visualization.  The  ouly  differ- 
ence between  the  two  is  that  the  former  deals  with  something 
actually  existing,  while  the  latter  is  wholly  of  the  imagina- 
tion. Yet,  practically,  this  difference  is  not  very  great.  You 
must  picture  to  yourself  clearly  what  you  are  to  describe  be- 
fore 5-0U  begin  to  write. 

If  Aunt  Polly's  back  parlor  had  been  a  real  room,  your  vis- 
ualization would  have  been  a  description.  Both  depend  for 
their  effectiveness  upon  clear  vision,  plenty  of  individualizing 
touches,  and  a  well-placed  point  of  view.  In  the  one,  the 
mind  is  just  as  free  to  embellish  and  build  up  as  in  the  other. 
The  best  description  would  not  result  if  you  should  actually  go 
and  look  at  the  place  or  structure  to  be  described,  and  should 
then  write  wliile  examining  it. 

I.  A  description  differs  from  a  visualization.  — There  are, 
however,  two  particulars  in  which  a  description  differs  from  a 
visualization.  In  the  latter  you  are  given  several  points  from 
which  to  start  your  thinking.  The  sentence,  "Aunt  Poll}'  sat 
in  her  little  l)aek  parh)r  peeling  a  panful  of  red  apples  before 
the   fire,'    contains   four   sneli    liinls,  — Auut  Polly,    the  back 

49 


50 


FIRST  STKIV  IN  KNMiMSlI  COMPOSITION. 


pai'lor,  paling  apples,  the  fire.  But,  in  writing  a  description, 
you  will  be  furnislied  no  such  suggestions  with  which  to  begin. 
You  will  simply  be  told  to  describe  a  railway  station,  a  vil- 
lage post-office,  and  so  forth,  and  will  have  to  find  for  j'ourself 
the  points  to  start  from.  This  makes  a  description  somewhat 
more  dillinilt  to  write  than  a  visualization. 

1 1 .  How  to  give  individualizing  touches  to  a  description.  — 
In  the  second  place,  it  is  less  easy  to  get  individualizing 
touches  into  a  description  than  into 
a  visualization — they  are  harder  to 
find  in  real  life  than  in  the  imagin- 
ation. 

1.  Let  us  suppose  that  you  are 
asked  to  describe  the  country  railway 
station  mentioned  above  (see  cut). 
You  should  proceed  —  as  with  the 
visualization — first  of  all  to  visualize 
your  subject.  And,  in  doing  this, 
you  should  endeavor  to  notice  especi- 
ally as  many  individualizing  touches 
as  possible,  and  should  clearly  locate 
yourself  and  your  point  of  view.  In 
my  mind  the  station  takes  shape  as 
in  the  accompanying  design.*  I  see 
myself  at  x . 

2.  Next  you  simply  tell  what  you 
see.  You  should  strive  to  make  the 
individualizing  touches  prominent, 
f(;r  the  excellence  of  a  description  depends  solely  on  this.     You 

*To  THE  Teacuer.— It  might  be  well  to  have  a  spei-ial  exercise  on  dia.i^ramming 
visualizations  of  places  suitable  for  descriptions.  It  is  very  interestin;.;  to  have 
^  number  of  the  same  place  put  on  the  board  for  comparison. 


THE  DESCRirTION.  51 

would  naturally  mention  the  platform  of  gray,  weather-beaten 
boards.  And,  if  j-our  mental  vision  has  been  clear  enough,  you 
will  have  noticed  the  many  three-cornered  dints  in  it  where 
heavy  trunks  have  been  dropped  on  their  corners  out  of  bag- 
gage cars,  and  will  mention  them. 

You  will  also  have  noticed  the  cracked  and  broken  ends  of 
the  planks  where  drays  and  omnibuses  have  been  backed  up 
against  them.  And  the  trucks  standing  alongside  the  build- 
ing, with  their  black,  greas}'  hubs,  and  with  most  of  the  paint 
knocked  off. 

Then,  as  to  the  building  itself,  there  is  the  semaphore 
sticking  out  over  the  platform  from  the  side,  and  the  brass 
telegraph  instruments  on  a  shelf  in  the  bay-window.  On  the 
edge  of  the  door  about  the  handle  is  an  irregular  blotch,  where 
hundreds  of  coal-blackened  hands  have  been  placed  to  push  it 
open.  And  near  by,  on  the  side  of  the  building,  are  the  scat- 
tered heads  of  tacks  and  the  minute  fragments  of  paper,  where 
notices  have  been  fastened  up  and  torn  down  again. 

3.  Many  more  touches  of  this  sort  might  be  added;  and, 
if  it  is  near  train  time,  a  number  of  moving  details  could  be 
introduced  with  advantage, — the  expressmen  and  omnibus 
drivers  leaning  up  against  their  vehicles  smoking  or  occasion- 
all}'  squaring  off  at  each  other,  the  drummers  with  their  tan 
overcoats  and  yellow,  rectangular  sample-cases,  etc.  And 
upon  such  details  all,  as  was  said,  depends.  You  cannot 
bring  in  too  many  of  them;  nor  can  j'ou,  on  the  other  hand, 
too  carefully  avoid  all  descriptive  adjectives  or  general  re- 
marks about  the  station  as  a  whole. 

4.  And,  for  the  same  reason,  3'ou  siiould,  as  far  as  possible, 
avoid  iiiciilioiiing  the  particulars  tiiat  iirc  plain  to  cNcrybody. 
Wliat  would  lie  gained  in   llie  above  tlesci'iption  by  saying  that 


52  FIKST  STEPS  IN  EXCLTSII  C():MP0SITI0N. 

the  building  was  a  frame  oni',  willi  doors,  windows,  and  a 
chimney,  antl  that  the  platform  was  long  and  narrow,  and  was 
in  front  of  the  building,  between  it  and  the  track?  Everybody 
sees  all  this  himself;  and,  moreover,  a  railway  station  is  not 
the  only  building  that  is  of  wood,  and  that  has  doors,  windows, 
and  a  chimney. 

But  what  people  will  not  see  are  the  individualizing  details; — 
nobody  ever  sees  them.  And  it  seems  to  be  a  fact  that  these 
more  general  points  of  description  are  attached  in  some  way  to 
the  individualizing  touches,  so  that  any  mention  of  the  latter 
brings  the  former  into  mind  also.  If  you  were  making  a 
scientific  description  for  some  special  use  in  business,  you 
would,  of  course,  proceed  differently, — would  for  instance  give 
the  exact  size  of  everything  in  feet,  give  the  technical  varieties 
of  lumber  employed  in  building,  and  so  forth.  But  this  you 
will  learn  to  do  when  you  get  out  of  school  and  into  business. 

5.  Furthermore,  you  should  mention  those  details  only 
which  you  can  naturally  see  from  the  place  where  you  imagine 
yourself  to  stand.  Thus,  in  the  above  instance,  nothing  was 
mentioned  which  was  inside  the  station  or  around  behind  it. 
Nor  could  I  pi'operly  have  stated  what  was  in  the  road  back  of 
my  position. 

If,  for  any  reason,  it  should  be  desirable  to  descril)e  these 
invisible  parts  of  j'our  subject,  you  should  begin  a  new  para- 
graph, and  first  of  all,  as  in  the  environment  sketch,  get  your- 
self, in  some  natural  way,  to  the  new  place.  Thus,  assuming 
you  are  describing  the  station  above,  it  would  be  easy  for  you 
to  make  your  friend,  Joe  Harris,  appear  suddenly  inside  the 
waiting-room,  when  5'ou  would  have  a  good  excuse  for  going  in. 
Or,  your  hat  might  blow  off  around  behind  the  building,  when 
you  would  naturally  go  around  there,  too. 


THE  DESCRIPTIOX.  53 

Of  course,  these  events  may  not,  in  realit}*,  have  happened 
at  all  ;  but  that  makes  no  difference.  Your  business  anyway 
is  not  to  tell  what  happened,  but  to  describe  the  station;  and 
these  imaginary  happenings  are  emploj'ed  merely  to  make 
your  description  move  along  smoothl}^  and  artistically.  Then, 
when  3-ou  are  in  this  new  situation,  notice  where  you  imagine 
your  new  point  of  view  to  be,  and  begin  again  as  Ijefore. 

6.  You  should  enumerate  the  individualizing  details  about 
in  the  order  of  their  distance  from  you,  as  j'ou  imagine  yourself 
to  stand  at  your  point  of  view.  And  it  is  not  at  all  necessaiy 
to  say  that  you  thus  arrange  them,  by  using  expressions  like  '  'at 
my  feet, "  "farther  on, ''  "in  the  distance,"  and  so  forth.  It 
does  not  matter  whether  your  reader  notices  that  they  are  thus 
arranged  or  not.  He  will  get  the  unconscious  pleasure  any- 
way that  comes  from  artistic  work. 

7.  In  the  enumeration  of  your  details,  j'ou  should  try,  if 
possible,  to  woi'k  up  to  the  climax.  Such  a  climax  would  nat- 
urally be  found  in  the  most  prominent  or  striking  detail  of 
all ;  and  with  this,  in  order  to  make  a  satisfying  conclusion, 
you  should  end. 

Thus,  if  you  were  describing  a  village  street  that  had  a 
court-house  or  prominent  church  at  the  farther  end,  3'ou 
should  mention  the  items,  in  a  general  way,  according  to  their 
distance  from  3'ou,  and  end  witli  the  prominent  building.  If 
the  reverse  were  the  case,  and  you  found  your  i)oint  of  view  to 
be  at  the  prominent  building,  you  should  follow  the  street  out 
to  where  it  ends  at  a  river,  a  wood,  a  clilF,  or  even  at  the 
horizon  itself. 

8.  You  should  carefully  keep  out  of  your  work  all  details 
that  do  not  liave  anything  tf)  do  with  what  j'ou  are  describing. 
It  would  not  have  helped  the  description  of  the  railway  station 


54  FIRST  STEPS  IX   KNCI.ISII  COMI'OSITION. 

if  J  li:ul  uu'UtioiH'd  a  in:in  riding  by  on  :i  iiuiU',  or  ;i  woman 
feeding  chickens  in  a  neighboring  yunl.  These  details  might 
in  themselves  have  l)e('n  interesting,  and  striliing,  and  all  liuit; 
l)\it  by  inserting  them  I  siionld  have  been  wandering  from 
ni}'  text. 

It.  It  is  often  well  to  have  short  introductory  and  conclud- 
ing paragraphs,  in  which  you  invent  an  easy  way  of  getting  to 
the  place  described  and  away  again.  Tliis  method  will  always 
insure  a  smooth  beginning  and  end. 

Many  descriptions  are  written  in  the  third  person;  but,  in 
this  case,  it  is  usually  very  dillieult  to  begin  and  close  nicely, 
since  the  above  method  can  not,  of  course,  be  followed. 
Then,  again,  in  describing  the  invisible  portions  of  your  sub- 
ject, you  would  not  be  able  to  employ  the  fiction  of  seeing 
your  friend  and  so  forth,  to  get  started  with,  but  would  simply 
besiin  a  new  paragraph  and  trust  to  your  general  style  for  ease 
in  the  transition. 

10.  If  you  bear  these  seven  points: —clear  visualization, 
individualizing  details,  definite  point  of  view,  restriction  in  the 
menticm  of  details  each  time  to  what  can  actually  be  seen, 
arrangement  of  the  items  according  to  their  distance  from  you, 
climax,  and  unity— in  mind  as  well  as  possible  during  the 
correcting  and  improving  of  your  work,  you  can  hardly  fail 
to  produce  an  interesting  and  well-written  description. 

SUGGESTED  SUBJECTS  FOR    DESCRIPTIONS. 

1.  The  Railway  Station. 

2.  The  Village  Street. 

3.  Mr.  Williams' General  Store. 

4.  The  Blacksmith  Shop. 

5.  The  Village  Postoffice. 


THE  DESCRIPTION.  65 

6.  The  Flour-Mill  of  the  Waterford  Co. 

7.  The  View  from  the  River  Bank. 

8.  In  the  Forest. 

9.  The  Round-House. 

10.  T'.ie  Skating  Pond. 

11.  The  Countr}^  School-House. 

12.  Mr.  Ackerman's  Farm-Yard. 

To  TUB  TEACHER. — Xuy  Special  subjects  which  may  lie  closer  to  the  expert 
ences  of  the  class  should  be  substituted   for  the  above  selections. 

III.  Discrimination  in  the  selection  of  details. — These 
descriptions  are  ordinary,  straightforward  compositions.  The 
only  object  is  to  get  down,  in  the  ordei'ly  ways  indicated,  as 
many  individualizing  details  as  possible.  No  reason  seems  to 
exist  why  one  item  is  not  just  as  worthy  of  considei'ation  as 
any  other. 

Yet  it  often  happens  that  you  will  find  yourself  exercising  a 
choice  upon  this  point.  Suppose,  for  some  reason,  jon  wished 
to  descril)e  a  Chinese  laundry.  You  would  visualize  as  you 
always  do;  but,  instead  of  putting  down  any  and  all  individ- 
ualizing details  that  oflfered  themselves,  3'ou  would  select 
those  that  bring  out  the  special  Chinese  appearance  of  your 
sul)ject.  These  you  would  make  prominent,  and  would  omit 
mail}-,  in  themselves  perhaps  excellent,  which  are  common  to 
laundries. 

You  would  particularly  mention  the  figure  of  Buddha  squat- 
ting with  folded  hands  on  the  shelf;  the  strips  of  paper  with 
vertical  rows  of  grotesque  characters;  the  Chinese  lilies  growing 
on  stones  in  bowls  of  well-water;  the  long,  straight-stemmed, 
round- bowled  pipes,  and  the  small  ivory  hand  on  a  stick  that 
Chinamen  scratch  their  back  with. 

The  same  problem  would  present  itself  if  you  should  wish 


5(i  V\\l<T  STKPS  IX   KNUMSII  CoM POSITION. 

to  mako  a  (U'scriptioii  with  a  ijiiiposc,-- Mr.  Ackennan's  farm- 
yard, for  instance,  so  as  to  show  liis  character.  But  this 
would  hv  a  siuiplo  environment  sketch. 

IV  Overcoming  difficulties  in  describing  persons.— De- 
scriptions of  persons  are  tlie  most  dillicult  of  all  to  make, — 
they  are  naturally  so  limited  in  extent  of  material,  and  indi- 
viduali/i!i_u'  details  are  less  easily  detected.  'I'liey  should 
always  be  made  with  the  purpose  of  clearly  showinjj;  tlie  char- 
acter, occupation,  ov  worldly  circumstances  of  the  person  de- 
scribed. Tlie  appearance  of  the  hat,  coat,  trousers,  collar,  and 
neck-tie,  of  the  hair  and  finger-nails,  of  the  face  and  beard, 
the  look  in  the  eye,  the  walk  and  carriage,  the  tone  of  the 
voice,  any  habits,  such  as  continual  spitting,  rubVting  the  chin, 
twirling  the  mustache, — all  should  be  made  to  furnish  individ- 
ualizing touches  setting  off  the  above  points. 

Moreover,  here  of  all  places,  must  the  general  and  the  ob- 
vious be  omitted.  Can  anything  be  more  alisurd  and  vague 
than  to  say  a  man  wears  a  l)lack  coat,  a  felt  hat,  has  brown 
hair,  and  is  five  feet  ten  inches  tall? 

SUGGESTED  SUBJECTS. 

1.  The  Chinese  Laundry. 

2.  The  College  Laboratory. 

3.  The  Tramp. 

4.  The  Ice-Man. 

5.  The  Jew  who  Bought  the  Old  Clothes. 

6.  The  Pawn-Broker's  Shop  at  No.  U  Vine  Street.  * 

7.  The  Old  Man  with  the  Fish. 

8.  The  Negro  Colony  on  the  Bottoms, 

*Uere  both  jilaceand  person  may  be  described. 


THE  DESCRIPTION.  57 


9.     The  Gypsy  Camp. 
10.      The  German  AVasber- Woman. 


SUGGESTIVE    QUESTIONS. 

1.  Wbiit  individualizing  touches  would  you  employ  to  describe  a  man  who  is 
vain  and  empty-headed? 

2.  What,  to  describe  a  man  who  is  a  "ward  heeler"  for  some  political  party'r 

3.  How  should  a  subject  be  stated   that  would  call  for  the  sense  of  feeling 
exclusively  in  writing  a  description? 

4.  How  might  the  "Environment  Sketch— A"  be  transformed  into  the  de- 
scription of  a  person? 


\ 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  NARRATIVE. 

I.  The  introduction.  If  your  narrative  is  to  be  an  ac- 
count of  a  little  journey,  for  instance,  the  best  way  to  begin  is 
to  state  where  j'ou  went  and  how  it  came  about  that  yon  went. 
If  it  is  to  tell  about  some  pleasure  trip,  such  as  a  picnic,  a 
skating  party,  or  a  sleigh-ride,  a  similar  introduction,  telling 
how,  where,  and  when  it  took  place,  should  be  written. 

If  j'our  composition  is  to  l»c  a  record  of  some  happening 
years  ago,  it  should  begin  somewhat  in  this  way:  — 

[The  two  men]  and  myself  sat  on  the  back  porch  one 
evening.  They  were  telling  of  adventures  they  had  had, 
and  that  brought  to  my  mind  a  strange  cxi)erience  I 
once  met  with  in  northern  "Wisconsin." 

This,  as  will  be  noticed,  tells  both  the  nature  of  the  narra- 
tive that  is  to  come  and  the  reason  for  telling  it.  This  intro- 
duction should  constitute  the  first  paragraph. 

II.  Write  in  the  first  person.  — Write  in  the  first  person, 
either  singular  or  plural.  If  you  should  make  yourself  one 
of  a  party  who  take  the  journc}^,  or  have  the  experience,  and 
should  consequently  use  we  instead  of  /,  the  account  would 
sound  more  modest.  If  it  should  be  necessary  or  desirable  to 
bring  in  anything  which  you  did  not  see  or  could  not  yourself 
have  observed,  let  it  be  reported  to  you  by  someone  else. 

III.  Principles  of  the  description  applicable.  —Several  of 
the  principles  that  make  a  dcscripli(;n  ell'ective  are  just  as  ap- 
plical)le  to  the  composition  of  a  narrative.  Here  also  does 
the  success  depend  on  biinging  in  as  many  little  details  as 
possible  of  the  kind  that  are  a/vyn/s  overlooh-xl, — such  as  the 

58 


THE  NARRATIVE.  59 

puffs  of  dust  kicked  up  l)y  the  horses  as  they  trot,  the  snipe 
wading  in  the  edge  of  a  pond,  the  mud-turtles  phimping  off 
their  log  as  you  rumble  over  the  bridge,  the  sun-flowers  turn- 
ing their  faces  always  toward  the  sun,  or,  in  a  train,  the 
heads  wagging  in  unison  to  match  the  lurching  of  the  cars. 
Space  forbids  to  mention  more. 

And  do  not  think  that  these  are  -'too  ordinary;"  do  not 
turn  up  your  nose  at  them ;  it  is  they,  and  they  alone,  that 
make  interesting  reading.  To  find  them,  you  should  continu- 
ally and  carefully  visualize.  A  narrative,  to  be  good,  must  be 
written  some  time  after  the  events  recorded.  As  with  the 
description,  good  work  could  not  result  if  you  should  write  the 
narrative  piece  by  piece  while  you  were  actually  making  the 
journey. 

IV.  Omit  what  everybody  sees.  — Conversely,  and  for  the 
same  reason, (you  should  omit  all  those  details  that  everybody 
naturally  notices.)  We  may  take  tliese  for  granted.  How 
l)arren  an  account  is  that  consists  only  of  remarks  to  the  effect 
that  you  rode  in  a  wagon,  that  the  horses  trotted,  that  the 
driver  cracked  his  whip,  and  so  forth!  Contrast  this  set  of 
details  with  the  set  given  al)ove.  If  you  mention  the  items 
that  are  not  generally  noticed,  your  reader  will,  for  some 
strange  reason.  alwa3-s  think  of  tlie  obvious  ones  himself. 

V.  Use  conversation  and  the  environment  sketch.— The 
conversation  and  the  environment  sketch  may  be  introduced 
into  the  narrative  with  advantage,  The  former  will  have  two 
distinct  uses.  In  the  first  place,  it  may  l)e  employed  to  re- 
lieve the  flow  of  the  narrative  itself,  if  it  should  become  at  all 
monotonous.  In  that  case  it  should  consist  of  occasional  de- 
tached remarks  among  the  members  of  the  party,  between  the 


60  FIR>;T  STKI'S  IX  KXGUSII  H ):\rrOSITTON. 

writer  tuul  tlie  driver,  llie  guide,  the  conductor,  or  the  leader^ 
conceriiing  obiects  of  interest,  tlie  progress  of  tlie  journey,  the 
plans  of  the  party,  the  state  of  tlie  weather,  and  so  forth- 
These  remarks  should  not  stand  as  separate  paragraphs,  but 
should  be  written  into  the  body  of  the  composition  itself. 

But  the  real,  etrcetive  use  of  tlie  conversation  is  to  cliarae 
terize  some  personage  nut  with  in  the  course  of  the  journey, — 
some  beggar,  tramp,  huuLtr,  fisherman,  old  settler,  country 
store-keeper,  school-teacher,  cattle-driver.  Such  a  conversa- 
tion should  be  worked  up  exactly  as  the  dialogue  sketches 
were,  in  chapter  YI.  You  should  carefully  make  up  your 
mind  what  traits  of  character  you  wish  to  set  forth,  and  then 
write  to  that  end. 

The  environment  sketch  may  also  be  introduced  with  the 
same  object  of  showing  the  character  of  some  person  who 
plays  a  part  in  your  narrative, — your  uncle,  whose  farm  you 
are  visiting;  the  landlord,  at  whose  rather  poor  tavern  you  are 
forced  to  put  up,  and  so  forth. 

A  VI.     Lead  up  to  the  striking  features. — As  important  a 

/matter,  perhaps,  as  any  in  writing  a  narrative  is  that  you  lead 
up  to  the  striking  features  which  you  intend  to  introduce.  Thus, 
if  you  plan  to  have  a  storm  conie  up  in  the  latter  part  of  your 
account,  which,  for  instance,  forces  you  to  seek  shelter  some- 
where, do  not  mention  this  suddenly  as  if  it  had  risen  in  the 
space  of  half  a  minute.  You  should  have  put  into  the  first  part 
of  your  composition  two  or  three  incidental  remarks  to  the 
effect  that  the  weather  was  threatening,  or  that  you  feared  a 
storm,  and  so  forth. 

Or,  if  your  narrative  is  to  culminate  in  a  run- away,  insert 
beforehand,  at  random,  a  few  observations  about  the  horses, — 


THE  NARRATIVE.  61 

say  that  they  -svere  unruly,  that  one  reared,  that  the  other  tried 
to  take  the  bit  in  his  teeth,  or  something  similar. 

Or,  if  you  are  describing  a  railway  journey,  in  the  course  of 
which  you  are  delayed  by  a  wash-out,  mention  the  heav}-  rains 
at  some  convenient  place  in  the  earlier  part  of  your  work.  Do 
not,  in  general,  make  it  seem  that  you  wrote  at  one  moment 
without  kuowing  what  j^ou  were  going  to  say  in  the  next,  or 
that  everything  happened  suddenly  without  any  apparent  rea- 
son, merely  to  fit  your  narrative. 

Do  not  think  that  this  plan  will  prevent  the  striking  occur- 
rence from  coming  as  a  surprise  and  a  climax.  If  it  should, 
it  would  be  bad.  But,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  such  preliminary 
hints  never  do  weaken  the  climax,  because  they  are  thrown  in 
80  incidentally,  or  obscurely  that  the  reader  only  half  notices 
them;  and  the  surprise,  when  it  does  come,  is  artistic  and  agree- 
able. Hence,  when  jou.  have  finished  describing  some  impor- 
tant event,  go  back  and  put  in  some  preliminary  allusions  of  this 
sort  at  convenient  places  in  the  first  part  of  your  narrative. 

VII.  Suggestions  as  to  paragraphing.  —As  to  paragraphs, 
3"our  introduction  should^  as  was  said,  constitute  the  first.  Any 
special  description  of  a  person  or  place,  any  sustained  conver- 
sation, any  environment  sketch,  sliould  have  a  paragraph  to 
itself.  An}'  change  in  the  course  of  the  narrative,  such  as  com- 
ing out  of  the  woods  into  a  valle^',  or  the  reverse,  sliould  be 
marked  by  a  paragraph  division. 

If  any  further  divisions  are  necessary,  in  order  to  avoid  going 
too  long  without  a  break  in  the  page,  make  them  at  any  con- 
venient point. 

A  narrative  will  naturally  not  need  any  concUision,  because 
the  introduction  indicates  how  lo.ig  it  is  t;>  be.  When  you 
have  reached  the  end  oi  what  you  set  out  to  say,  stop.      If 


62  FIRST  STEPS  IX    ENGLISH  COMPOSITION. 

you  should  chanuc  your  niiiul  in  tlie  course  of  th;'  wrilinir,  and 
should  wish  to  st.ip  before  this,  or  to  continue  a  liLtle  farther, 
go  back  and  alter  your  introduction  accordingly. 

SUGGESTED  SUBJECTS  FOR  NARRATIVES. 

1.  A  Skating  Party. 

2.  A  Bicycle  Trip. 

3.  A  Journey  l)y  Rail. 

4.  A  Visit  to  Uncle  Jake's. 

5.  Climbing  Old  Bald  Top. 
G.  Gatliering  Hickory  Nuts. 

7.  Our  Picnic  in  the  Woods. 

8.  Wading  the  Trout  Stream. 

9.  How  1  Built  my  Heu-House. 

10.  The  First  Day  of  School. 

11.  While  I  Was  a  Book  Agent. 

12.  What  Happened  AVhile  Father  Was  Away. 

13.  How  we  Arranged  our  Camp. 

SUGGESTIVE   QUESTIONS. 

1.  How  much  scope  should  be  allowed  to  pure  imagination  in  a  narrative' 

2.  If  a  narrative  should  be  wholly  imaginary,  what  would  it  be,  in  form? 

3.  In  story-writing,  how  may  the  probability  of  the  happenings  be  strength- 
ened? 


CHAPTER  IX. 
ELEMENTARY  RHETORIC. 

There  are  gathered  together  in  this  chapter,  with  some  am- 
plification, the  various  suggestions,  warnings,  and  points  of 
instruction  scattered  through  the  preceding  pages.  Tlie}' 
cover  the  rather  vaguely'  defined  middle  ground  between 
simple  grammar  and  rhetoric. 

The  hints  given  touch  upon  grammar  in  such  elementary 
points  of  instruction  as  the  direction  to  say  /  saw  for  I  seen. 
Rhetoric  is  reached  in  the  few  principles  of  sentence  structure 
that  are  introduced,  in  an  elementary  way,  to  close  with. 

If  the  teacher  can,  in  the  course  of  a  year,  secure  a  general 
freedom  from  these  faults  and  a  virtual  adherence  to  these 
principles,  he  ma}'  feel  himself  amply  repaid  for  his  efforts; 
his  pivpils  will  1)0  writing  better  English  than  the  great  major- 
ity of  Americans. 

I.    CAPITALS. 

Begin  with  a  capital: — 

1.  The  first  word  of  a  sentence. 

2.  Titles  of  office,  honor  and  respect,  such  as  Prof. , 
Col.,  Mr..  Mrs.,  Miss,  Major,  General,  Admiral,  Vice-Pres., 
King,  Senator,  Superintendent,    Judge,  Doctor,  Principal,  etc. 

3.  Names  of  the  days  of  the  week,  of  months,  and  of 
holidays. 

4.  Nouns  and  pronouns  referring  to  God.* 

5.  Proper  nouns  and  the  adjectives  formed  from  tliem. 

6.  The  more  important  words  of  titles  and  headings. 


•Some  writers  be^ln  pronouns  referrini;  to  the  Deitj  with  a  capiiul  only  when 
used  without  an  antecedent,  or  for  Bpecial  emphasis 

63 


<;4  FIRST  STEPS  IN  ENCiLlSIl   COMPOSITION. 

7.  The  first  word  of  a  direct  (inotation  or  a  direct  ques- 
tion, if  it  forms  a  sentence. 

8.  The  first  word  of  every  line  of  poetry. 

!'.      The  names  of  objects  vividly  personified. 
10.      In  addition,  the  pronoun  "I"  and  the  interjection  "0' 
should  be  capitals. 

n.     PUNCTUATION. 

A— The  Simple  Sentence. 

1.  The  simple  sentence  should  end  with  a  period  in  most 
cases.      But. — 

(I.  If  it  is  a  (pieslion.  it  should  end  with  a  question- 
mark. 

I'.  If  it  expresses  a  sharp  command,  a  cry  of  surprise, 
fright,  grief,  joy,  and  the  like,  the  simple  sentence  should  end 
with  an  exclamation  point;  as, — 

Help  !  help  !  or  I  shall  die. 
Oh,  how  glad  I  am  ! 

2.  The  simple  sentence  should  end  with  a  colon  if  it 
merely  calls  attention  to  something:;  that  is  to  follow  in  the 
next  sentence ;  as,  — 

These  are  the  two  most  iuii)()rtant  tliin'jsto  remember: 
First,  you  should  drink  less  cuffee;  secondly,  yuu  should 
go  early  to  Ix^.d. 

3.  It  should  end  with  a  colon  and  dash  if  the  statements 
mtroduced  do  not  come  immediately  after  it,  but  begin  on  the 
next  line  without  an  introductory  word.      See  rule  4  below. 

4.  If  the  su1)ject,  predicate,  object,  or  any  other  word 
have  three  or  more  woi-ds  or  expressions  modifying  it,  these 
should  be  separated  by  a  comma,  in  this  way: — 


ELEMENTARY  RHETORIC.  65 

Aunt  Polly  had  a  panful  of  large,  red,  juicy  apples  in 
her  lap. 

Notice  the  commas  separating  the  modifiers  of  (tpplcs. 
She  pared  them   carefully,   quickly,   and    wiih   skill. 

Notice  how  the  commas  separate  the  modifiers  of  pared. 

Where  three  or  more  modifiers  are  present,  the  last  two  of 
which  are  joined  b}'  and.  there  should  be  a  comma  even  before 
the  connective,  unless  the  last  two  words  or  phrases  are 
united  as  one  element.* 

If  there  are  only  ftco  modifiers  joined  by  a  .connective,  no 
comma  is  used. 

5.  In  fact,  if  three  or  more  expressions  of  any  sort,  that 
belong  together,  follow  each  other,  commas  should  be  inserted 
according  to  the  same  principle  as  in  sentences  containing 
three  or  more  simple  subjects  or  simple  predicates:  — 

1.  Charlie,  Jim,  and  Harry  were  brothers. 

2.  George  could  row  a  boat,  play  marbles,  and  skate. 

6.  If  the  sentence  contains  an  expression  thrown  in  to 
describe  the  subject  or  object,  without  being  actually  connected 
with  it,  such  expression  should  be  enclosed  by  commas: — 

Aunt  Polly,  a  gray-haired  old  lady,  sat  in  her  little 
parlor. 

Notice  the  expression  between  commas;  it  was  thrown  in  to 
describe  Aunt  Polly. 

7.  A  direct  quotation  may  be  separated  from  the  rest  of 
the  sentence  l)y  a  commas,  as, — 

"Give  nie  a  worm  for  my  hook,"  said  the  first  boy. 

♦If  an  adjective  is  used  to  qualify  only  the  first  of  three  nouns  in  a  ^eries,  and 
the  last  two  are  joined  by  a  connective,  tlie  comma  is  placed  after  tlie  first  noun 
only. 


66  FIRST  STEPS  IX  ENGLISH  O  ).M  POSITION. 

B.     The  Compound  Sentence.— 

8.  The  compoiiiul  sentence  should  end  Hke  the  simple  sen- 
tence. 

9.  It  consists  of  two  or  more  simple  sentences,  connected 
by  some  co-ordinate  conjunction;  such  as  and^  hut,  gtill,  Jtoiv- 
evcr,  i/et,  or,  nor,  and  others.  These  parts  should  l)e  separated 
by  semi-colons  if  one  or  more  of  them  is  long  and  has  com- 
mas; and  the  semi-colons  should  stand  before  the  conjunc- 
tion. 

10.  If  the  parts  of  a  compound  sentence  be  all  short  and 
have  no  punctuation  marks,  they  should  l)e  separated  by  com- 
mas.     (This  is  virtually  rules  4  and  5  over  again.) 

11.  If  the  connective  joining  any  two  parts  should  not 
stand  between  them,  but  inside  the  second  part,  it  must  have  a 
comma  before  and  after.      Notice  the  following  sentences: 

"He  may  be  honest;  however,  we  must  not  depend  on  it." 

This  is  punctuated  according  to  rule  9.      Now  observe  :  — 

'  'He  may  be  honest;  we  must  not,  however,  depend  on  it. ' ' 

Here  the  conjunction,  however,  stands  inside  the  second  part 
of  the  sentence.  Still,  nevertheless,  hoivever,  notwithstanding, 
though,  although,  and  expressions  like  of  course,  indeed,  it  is 
true,  aro  the  conjunctions  most  generally  used  within  the 
clause  itself. 

12.  The  foregoing  rule  would  hold  even  though  the  sec- 
ond part  should  stand  by  itself  as  a  simple  sentence.      Thus: — 

He  may  be  honest.     We  must  not,  however,  depend  on  it. 

13.  If  the  predicate  of  the  second  or  the  third  part  should 
be  omitted,  a  comma  must  stand  in  its  place: — 


ELEMENTARY  RHETORIC.  07 

"]\lost  of  the  scholars  rode  out  U)  tlie  grounds  in  wag- 
ons; but  some,  on  horse  back." 

Here  the  predicate  rode  is  omitted  where  the  comma  stands. 

C.     The  Complex  Sentence. — 

14.  The  complex  sentence  should  end  like  a  simple  sen- 
tence. 

15.  All  the  other  rules  for  tlu;  punctuation  of  the  ^;iniple 
sentence  apply. 

IG.  The  complex  sentence  contains  subordinate  clauses  at- 
tached to  a  main  clause.  These  modify  the  subject,  the  pred- 
icate, the  object,  or  some  other  part  of  the  principal  clause, 
and  should,  in  general,  have  a  comma  before  or  after  them: — 

I  had  a  quarrel  with  Will,  who  lias  always  been  my 
friend. 
Here  the  second  clause  modifies  Wi//. 

In  spite  uf  the  fact  that  AVill   was  my  friend,  I  quar- 
reled with  him. 

Here  the  first  clause  modifies  (pidmlcd. 

The  house,  in  which  we  had  lived  so  many  years,  was 
now  deserted. 

Here  the  clause  between  commas  modifies  Iwn.se. 

*17.  But  a  clause  which  stands  as  the  object  of  the  verb 
in  indirect  discourse,  or  which  is  used  to  complete  tiie  mean- 
ing of  an  intransitive  verb,  is  not  thus  separated;  as, — 

We  expected  that  our  friends  would  arrive  by  noon. 
He  said  that  he  did  not  believe  me. 
He  sat  where  he  was  told. 


*  The  use  ol'  the  comma  in  complex  sentences  is  subject  to  much  vaiUilion 
among  writer.-.  After  all,  the  correct  employment  of  this  punctuation-murk  tic 
pends  chielly  upon  a  sensitive  and  accurate  perception  of  the  thought  to  be  con- 
veyed 


68  FIRST  STEPS  IN  ENliLlSlI  COMPOSITION. 

18.  In  general,  whatever  preeedes  the  subject,  except  its 
ordinary,  singh'-word  inoditiers,  shoukl  be  separated  from  the 
ri'Uia'nuU'r  of  [\\v  sentence  by  a  comma;  as. — 

If  you  fail  uio  in  tlii-',  I  shall  never  trust  you  more. 
"Where  he  was  tuld  to  sit,  he  sat. 

D.     Sentences  in  general. — 

1!).  If  the  flow  (  F  a  si'ntence  suddenly  bi'caUs  oil'  and  takes 
another  turn,   tiu'  l)i\'a'\;  should  be  luarked  by    a    dasii;   thus. — 

I  uiight  say  tliat  liberty  is  our  birthright;  I  might  say — 
but  what  is  to  I);'  gained  by  words? 

20.  If  a  wrilt'r  puts  into  his  composition  any  words,  sen- 
tences, or  expressions  that  were  first  written  or  uttered  by  some- 
one else;  and  if  he  gives  them  exactly  as  (/ai/  icere  thus  icriffen  or 
uttered,  he  shoukl  set  them  off  by  quotation  marks.  This  applies 
both  to  the  words  which  he  puts  into  the  mouths  of  his  own  char- 
acters in  a  conversation,  and  to  the  use  of  slang  expressions  or 
curious  remarks,  which  lie  does  not  wish  to  be  held  responsible 
for.  If  the  words  in  quotation  marks  form  a  sentence,  this 
shoukl  be  preceded  by  a  comma,  should  begin  with  a  capital, 
and  should  be  punctuated  by  itself;  otlierwise,  not. 

21.  The  apostrophe  should  alwa3's  be  used  to  form  the 
possessive  case  of  nouns.  To  plurals  ending  in  s  and  to  sin- 
gulars followed  by  a  word  beginning  with  the  sound  of  s,  the 
apostrophe  alone  is  added.  Otherwise,  the  apostrophe  should 
be  followed  by  s  when  indicating  possession. 

22.  The  apostrophe  is  also  used  to  form  the  plural  in  ex- 
pressions like  the  6"s,  hack  in  tlie^JfO's,  mind  your  p\^  and  q's, 
not  enough  q's  in  the  font,  too  many  x's.  However,  in  the  case 
of  numbers,  it  is  better  to  write  the  word. 

23.  Every  abbreviation  proper  should  close  with  a  period. 


ELEMP:XTARY  rhetoric.  69 

But  it  should  1)1*  noted  that  names  like  Tom,  Sam,  Beu,  Jim, 
that  are  actually  used  in  speech,  are  no  longer  real  abbrevia- 
tions. 

The  shortening  of  a  word,  accomplished  by  cutting  a  por- 
tion out  of  the  interior  instead  of  from  tlie  end,  forms  a  con- 
traction, which  is  usually  marked  l)y  the  apostrophe;  as,  Saml, 
don't,  C/i'(/o. 

III.  THE  MOST  COMMON  FAULTS  OF  EXPRESSION. 

A.     In  the  use  of  Verbs. — 

1.  You  should  never  say  '-burglarize"  for  '-Itreak  into  a 
house;"  "poetize"  for  "write  poetry;"  "I  suspicion"  for  "I 
suspect;"  "evidenced"  for  "proved;  "enthuse"  for  "make 
or  become  enthusiastic;"  "orate"  for  "deliver  an  oration  ' 
"Progresses"  for  "makes  progress,"  and  "aggregates"  for 
"amounts  to,"  are  also  of  doubtful  use.  These  words  are  sim- 
ply nouns  turned  into  verbs,  and  persons  with  good  literary 
taste  should  avoid  them  as  perversions  of  speech.  You  might 
as  well  say  you  were  going  to  fjeographize,  when  you  mean  that 
you  intended  to  study  3'our  geography  lesson;  or  that  you  were 
hhick-hoardiiui  an  example  in  fractions,  when  you  put  it  on  the 
board. 

2.  Do  not  use  stop  when  you  mean  staij.  You  should  say 
you  have  a  friend  staying  at  your  house,  not  stojj/nng  there ;  or 
that  you  are  going  to  stay  a  week  with  your  aunt,  instead  of 
stop  a  week.  Stopping  means  the  coming  to  a  stand-still  of 
something  in  motion;  as  in,  "The  train  stopped  at  the  station;" 
or,  "The  boys  stopped  a  moment  in  their  play;"  or,  "I  stopped 
at  the  house  to  get  a  drink." 

3.  Do  not  use  cdfculafr.  when  you  mean  intonl  or  expect.  "My 
father  cv</cM/a^s  to  send  me  away  to  school,"  is  wrong;  "My  father 


70  FIRST  STKl'S  IX  KXiiLlSll  C'U.MI'OSITIOX. 

iiitriufs  to  send  me  away  to  school,  "  is  right.  Calcuhttr  means  to 
reckon  or  liiiiire;  as,  ''The  storc-kcopor  ciilculatcd  the  cost  of 
eighteen  Ijoxes. " 

4.  Do  not  use  claim  when  you  mean  insist  or  nitiintain. 
'•The  speaker  ^/a//>m?  that  the  county  commissioners  had  no 
right  to  appoint  a  slierilT, "  is  wrong.  It  shouhl  l)e,  "The 
speaker  insisfnl,"  etc.  Ofxim  means  to  ask  or  seek  by  virtue 
of  right  or  authority ;  as,  ''The  couuty  commissioners  claimed 
the  right,"  ''The  bo}'  claimed  the  seat  It}"  tlie  stove."' 

5.  Do  no  say  bust  for  barsf.     Tlierc  is  no  sucli  verb  as  Imsf. 
(J.      Say  //•//  ft)  instead  of  tri/  and. 

7.  "It  has  been  proved,"  is  preferred  to  '-It  has  been 
proven.''  The  verb  "prove"  has  become  regular  within  the 
last  ten  years. 

8.  Say  ' 'fail  to  remember. "  not  "disremember. " 

9.  I  sprang,  sang,  shrank,  drank,  began,  and  so  forth,  are 
preferable  to  I  apruug,  sung,  and  so  forth.  The  forms  with 
the  M  are  in  reality  participles,  and  it  is  best  to  use  tliem  only 
in  I  have  sprung  and  similar  compound  tenses. 

10.  Always  say  simply  "ought,  '  and  not  "had  ought." 
The  past  is  formed  thus:  I  ought  to  have  gone,  done  it,  seen  to 
it,  etc. 

11.  AUoic  is  often  wrongly  used  when  believe,  admit,  think, 
or  grant  is  meant.  You  should  not  say,  "I  allow  that  "Will 
Armstrong  is  the  best  arithmetic  scholar  in  our  class,"  but  "I 
believe  that  he  is."'  Allow  is  a  transitive  verb  and  means  to 
permit;  as,  "I  allowed  Will  Armsti'ong  to  take  my  book." 

12.  In  expressions  likey?7/  np,  empfi/  out,  and  so  forth,  the 
preposition  is  unnecessar}. 

13.  Don't  and  Doesn't.  —  Don't  is  a  combination  of  do  and 
7iot;    doesn't,  of   does  and   not.       Consequentl}'  it  is  wrong  to 


ELEMENTARY  RHETORIC.  71 

say  He  di»i'f.  fur  the  simple  reason  that  it  is  wrong  to  say  He 
do  not.  He  does)}' t  is  good  English,  because  He  does  not  is. 
The  same  principle  will  decide  the  remainiag  five  cases. 

14.  You  should  always  say  you  were,  and  never  you  tons. 
And,  in  asking  questions,  you  should  use  vere  you  and  not 
\cas  you. 

15.  You  will  not  need  to  be  told  that  There  is  sixof  u.i,  ami 
There  iras  a  chair  and  a  table  in  the  room,  are  very  bad  English. 
Fortunately  for  our  self-respect,  this  mistake,  at  least,  is  due 
to  carelessness  and  not  to  ignorance. 

16.  ShiiU  andWiU. — In  Ivnll  or  loe  will  {i.e.  the  firstpersou), 
the  A"erb  usually  conveys  a  promise,  an  intention,  or  a  determina- 
tion. On  the  other  hand,  shall,  in  the  first  person,  expresses 
simpl}'  the  idea  of  futurity  without  any  such  additional  mean- 
ing.     In  the  first  person,  shaJl  is  also  used  in  asking  questions. 

Hence  3'ou  could  sa}-,  "I  shall  forget  Case  I Y  in  percent- 
age,"  and  it  would  be  good  English; — we  should  simply  feel 
sorry  for  you.  But  if  you  should  sa\%  '  'I  will  forget  Case  TV 
in  percentage,  '  we  should  think  you  were  a  very  unwise  pupil. 
The  English  of  the  latter  is  good  enough; but  it  says  what  you 
do  not  mean,  l)ecause  it  expresses  a  purpose  to  forget  this  case. 

In  the  second  and  third  persons,  shall  conveys  a  promise,  a 
determination,  or  a  command.  Wi//.  in  the  second  and  third 
persons,  expresses  futurity.  If  you  say,  "George  will  sleep  in 
tiie  attic;"  or,  "You  will  sleep  in  the  attic,"  the  i^higlish  is 
good;  you  are  simply  stating  what  George  or  the  other  person 
intends  to  do.  If  you  say,  however.  "George  shall  sleep  in 
the  attic;  or,  "You  shall  sleep  in  the  attic,"  the  English  is 
good,  also,  I  lilt  tlie  meaning  is  dilferent.  These  sentences 
read  as  though  y(ju  were  the  head  of  the  family  ami  were  di- 
recting George  and  the  other  person  where  to  sleep. 


72  FIHSTSTI'.PS  IX  KXCLISH  CoMPf  )SlTrON. 

Would  autl  s/iuit/(l  are  used  siiaihu'l_v  to  ici//  iiud  sIki/I. 
With  those  two  vcrlts  it  is  not  a  question  of  riLjht  and  wrong 
form, — the  foiin  will,  in  either  case,  he  correct — l)ut  of  saying 
/What  j'ou  wish  to  say,  and  of  avoiding  al)surdities. 

17.  Mai/  and  can.  —  Can  conveys  the  idea  of  actual  mental 
or  physical  ability  to  do  something;  may  expresses  permission 
or  possibility.  Hence  the  question,  "Can  I  go  out?  "  is  incor- 
rect; l)ocause,  if  you  are  not  a  cripple  and  the  door  is  not 
locked,  you  can,  of  course,  go.  J3ut  whether  the  teacher  will 
permit  you  to  go  is  uncertain;  hence.  '-May  I  go  out?"  is  the 
proper  form  for  the  (|uestion. 

Similarly,  in  a  declarative  sentence,  you  would  say,  "the  boys 
7naij  catch  a  string  of  fish.''  because  you  cannot  be  sure  of  it. 
If  you  say  they  can  catch  one,  you  are  too  certain  of  their 
abilit}'. 

"You  7nai/  see  m}'  book,"  indicates  permission;  "You  can 
see  my  book,"  indicates  ability  on  your  part  to  see  it.* 

With  these  two  verl)s,  as  with  ska//  and  ivi/f  above,  it  is  not 
so  much  a  question  of  correct  usage  as  of  saying  what  you 
wish  to  say. 

18.  The  following  three  pairs  of  verbs  are  very  often  incor- 
rectly used: — 

Lie  and  lay. 
iSit  and  set. 
Rise  and  raise. 

Now  it  will  be  seen  that  the  latter  verb  of  each  pair  is  tran- 
sitive, and  can,  therefore,  never  be  used  unless  it  have  an  ob- 
ject.     You  can,  evidently,    not  laii,    set,   or  raise,    unless  you 


*  It  may  be  interesting  to  note  that,  in  the  German  language,  this  verb  can 
(kann)  has  succeeded  in  accomplishing  what  it  is  trying  to  do  In  English, 
viz:  to  get  itself  establishnl  as  the  proper  auxiliary  in  expressions  of  per' 
mission  and  uncertaintj'. 


ELEMENTARY  RHETORIC.  73 

have  something  which  j^ou  lay,  srt,  or  raise.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  former  verb  of  each  couple  can  never  have  an  object. 

The  hen  lays  an  egg;  but  the  egg  does  not  lay — it  lies —  in 
the  nest.  And  the  hen.  when  she  has  laid  a  number  of  eggs, 
does  not  set — she  sits — on  them.  Hence,  she  is  also  a  sitting 
and  not  a  setting  hen.-j-  ''The  sun  sets,"  however,  is,  curiously 
enough,  an  exception  to  this  principle. 

But  it  is  in  the  use  of  the  past  tense  and  the  perfect  participle 
that  most  confusion  prevails,  yet  it  is  easy  to  remember  the 
distinctions  between  them. 


lie.  lay,  lain, 
sit,  sat,  sat. 
rise,  rose,  risen. 


lay,  laid,  laid. 

set,  set,  set. 

raise,  raised,  raised. 


19.  Do  not  say  done  away  with  for  removed,  abolished,  over- 
come, or  set  eiside. 

20.  Mistakes  like  the  following  are  frequently  found  in  the 
work  of  young  writers: — 

The  boy  ai<k  to  be  taken  along. 
The  tramp  tlireaten  to  shoot. 

The  verbs  should,  of  course,    be  Sisked  and  threatened;  but 

in  speech  the  ed  on  the  end  flows  into  the  ''  t "  of  to  and  is  not 

heard.      Hence  the  careless  writer  forgets  their  existence  and 

leaves  them  off  in  writing. 

21.  It  is  incorrect  to  say  would  o/,  etc.,  for  icould  have, 
etc.  The  reason  for  this  mistake  is  also  one  of  sound.  In 
rapid  speech  the  have  sounds  like  of,  and  careless  writers  forget 
that  they  are  different  words. 

B.     In  the  use  of  Nouns. — 

22.  Say  station  instead  of  dijiot.  The  latter  word  means  a 
warehouse  or  headquarters,  as  in  the  words  in  ilk-depot,  coal-depot. 

t  Popular  teachings  to  the  contrary,  notwithstanding. 


74  FIRST  STKrs  IN  I'-XCLISII  COMPOSITIOX. 

1j3.      Nt'ver  say  y)a«/.v.      Thcrt'  is  no  such  noun  ;  siiy  trousers. 

2-1.  Call  the  place  ^'oii  live  in  your  house  and  not  your  rrs- 
iiloice.  Why  is  the  old  Anglo-Saxon  word  not  good  enough? 
And  in  the  same  way  say : — 

fire  and  not  conflagration, 
city  and  not  )n('tropolis, 
croiril  and  not  concourse, 
wagon  and  not  reliiclr, 
school-teacher  and  nut  pedagogue. 

This  fault,  and  the  one  mentioned  on  page  69,  usually  go  to- 
gether.     Do  not  "show  ofT"  in  couiijosilion-writing. 

25.  Say  2^hofo(/r(ij>/i  and  uot  jJiofo. 

26.  Do  not  say  our  folk. <!  ior  onrfinmli/. 

27.  And,  similarly,  do  not  use  rchitions  wlicii  you  mean  rel- 
II tires.  * 

28.  When  you  mean  remainder  do  not  say  Ixilance.  The 
latter  word  is  used  in  this  sense  only  by  book-keepers. 

C.     In  the  use  of  Pronouns. — 

29.  Mistakes  in  the  use  of  pronouns  usually  come  about 
whenever  the  writer  does  not  stop  to  think  whether  the  given 
instance  is  to  be  in  the  nominative  or  in  the  objective  case. 

Thus,  "Us  boys  can  do  it, "  is  evidently  wrong;  because /r.v 
is  the  objective  form.  It  should  be  the  nominative  form,  //v, 
since  the  word  is  the  subject  of  the  sentence.  But,  "He  let 
us  boj's  play  in  the  barn,"  is  right,  because  us  is  here  the 
objective  subject  of  the  infinitive  y>/</3/. 

30.  After  than  and  us  n<H  as,  the  pronoun  should  have  the 
same  case  as  the  pronoun  which  precedes  it  and  corresponds  to 
It  in  sentence  use.      These  expressions  sound  like  prepositions, 


'In  England  relations  seems  to  be  preferred. 


ELEMENTARY  KIIETORIC.  75 

and  people  consequently  feel  inclined  to  use  the  objective  case 
after  them.  But  they  are  connectives,  and  the  pronoun  should 
have  the  case  which  it  would  take  if  the  second  part  of  the 
sentence  were  complete.  Thus,  '-They  liked  him  better  than 
H/f. "  and,  "They  liked  him  better  than  i^"  convey  entirely 
different  ideas.  If  the  second  half  of  each  sentence  be  written 
out  in  full,  this  diffei-ence  will  l)ecome  clear.      Thus:  — 

"Jhey  liked  him  better  than  (they  liked)  me."  "They 
liked  him  better  than  I  diked  him)." 

Here,  as  on  pages  71  and  72,  it  is  not  so  much  a  question 
of  using  these  words  correctly  as  of  avoiding  al)surdities. 
Thus,  '-He  can  do  it  as  well  as  me."  is  slangy  and  ridiculous 
because,  as  it  stands,  it  means  that  he  can  do  it  as  well  as  he 
can  do  me. 

31.  Always  use  the  nominative  case  in  the  predicate  with 
is,  ivas,  have  been,  shall  he,  icill  he,  might  he,  ought  to  he,  and  so 
forth;  as  in  "It  is  7!"  "It  was  they  who  ran,"  "It  will  be  ice 
who  shall  have  to  suffer  for  it,"  "It  ought  tobehe  this  time," 
and  so  forth,  t 

32.  Who  and  irlioin. — Here  also  correct  use  depends  merely 
on  closely  observing  whether  the  nominative  or  the  objective  case 
is  required.  '  'I  saw  a  man  on  the  street  corner  who,  I  thought, 
resembled  the  escaped  prisoner,"  is  correct,  because  rrho  is  the 
subject  of  resemhlcd.  Many  people  would  say  "whom  I 
thought,"  etc.,  because  they  would  think  lohom  to  be  the  ob- 
ject of  thought.      But  it  is  not,  since  Tthonght  is  merely  thrown 


tit  may  be  interesting  to  note  here  that,  in  theSwedisli  and  Danish  languages, 
this  objective  case  of  the  pronoun  has  succeeded  in  effecting  what  i  t  is  trying  to 
do  In  English,  viz:  to  get  itself  established  as  the  proper  form  in  predicate  con- 
structions. Compare  also  ttie  French  C'est  moi.  It  in  me  may  ultimately  Ijecome 
standard  with  us  also. 


70  lli;ST  STKl'S  IX   K\(iLISIl   (  «  >M  rosiTloX. 

in  parentlR'lii-ally.      It  would  \n-  the  ohjcct,  in  such  ;i  construc- 
tion as,    "whom  1  tliouuhl  lo  lie  Ihc  escaped  prisoner." 

"It  is  not  uL  all  certain  tr/ii>  I  shall  coiilide  this  matter  to" 
cannot  be  correct,  because  the  pronoun  is  the  object  of  to  and 
should  therefore  ]>e  in  tlie  objective  case. 

33.  Do  not  use  the  expressions  he  or  s/ir,  /lis  or  her.  In 
cases  where  botli  men  and  women  are  meant,  the  masculine 
pronoun  alone  is  used  in  referring  to  them. 

34.  '-Between  j'ou  and  I.  '  is  an  error  which  evidently  owes 
its  origin  to  the  frequent  use  of  "you  and  I"  as  the  subject  of 
a  sentence,  coupled  with  the  fact  that  you  has  no  separate  form 
for  the  objective  case. 

D.  In  the  use  of  Conjunctions. — 

If  the  parts  of  a  compound  subject,  joined  by  neither,  nor,  etc. , 
are  singular,  the  predicate  verb  and  pronoun  should  also  be 
singular.     Thus: — 

"Neither  George  nor  Alfred  was  able  to  get  Ida  spelling 
lesson." 

And  if  you  use  neither,  always  use  nor;  o/-goes  with  cither. 

36.  The  same  rule  holds  iov  either — or;  as  in,  "Either  Mr. 
Williams  or  Mr.  Allen  is  sure  to  obtain  the  best  reward  for  hin 
services." 

37.  Do  not  use  hut  that  for  that  in  expressions  indicating 
doubt;  as  in,  "I  do  not  doubt  but  that  he  will  become  my 
friend."  This  sentence  really  states  the  opposite  of  what  it  is 
supposed  to  state.  As  it  stands,  it  says  that  I  do  not  doubt 
at  all  except  that  he  will  become  my  friend,  and  this  I  doubt. 

E.  In  the  use  of  Adjectives. — 

38.  Each  and  ccerij  demand  that  the  sentences  begun  by 
them  be  constructed  throughout  in  the  singular;  as, — 


ELEMENTARY  RHETORIC.  77 

Every  man  is  tlie  architect  of  Jiis  own  fortune. 
Every  person  present  i.t  exjiected  to  contribute  his  share, 
even  if  Jic  can  give  only  a  mite. 

39.  The  same  rule  holds  good  for  no  on<\  everyone,  nobody, 
everybody ;  as  in, — • 

"Everybody  will  receive  his  reward  if  lie  is  conscientious 
in  what  he  does." 

Everybody  is  in  reality  two  words,  every  body,  and  body  is 
singular.  This  accounts  for  the  rule.  It  is  particularly  in  the 
use  of  subsequent  pronouns  that  mistakes  are  made. 

40.  Either  should  be  used  only  when  the  writer  has  one  of 
two  persons  or  objects  in  mind;  if  one  of  more  than  two  is  re- 
ferred to,  any  is  the  proper  word.  But  both  words,  in  such 
constructions,  demand  singular  predicates  and  pronouns. 

"The  principal  mentioned  two  pupils  an  candidates 
for  promotion,  but  I  did  not  think  cither  of  them  icas  fit." 

"Mr.  Lynch  has  three  brothers,  but  he  does  not  think 
any  one  of  them  is  very  proficient  in  liis  business." 

41.  Latter  n.\u\  Jtisf,  foniK  r  :ini\  first.  —  Latter  and  foriner 
are  comparatives;  last  and  Jirsf,  superlatives.  Hence,  the 
first  two  words  should  be  used  if  only  two  objects  are  referred 
to,  and  the  last  two  when  more  tlian  that  numlier  are  in  mind; 
as,— 

"Of  the  two  boys  mentioned  for  pi'omotion,  I  think 
the  former  (or  latter)  only  is  fit." 

"Of  the  class,  I  think  only  the  first  (or  last),  pupil  men- 
tioned is  fit  for  promotion." 

42.  Occasionally  a  double  comparative  slips  into  a  compo- 
sition, as,  wore  worthi'  /•.      This  should  be  avoided. 

43.  It  is  a  common  fault  to  say  ''the  two  last,"  "tlic  three 
last,"  "the  two  following;'  yet  plainly  enough  only  one  can 
be  last  in  a  row  of  objects,  ant]  only  one  can  immediately  fol- 


78  FIRST  STEPS  IN  KNdLISII  COMPOSITION. 

low  iinotlior  in  a  row.     Hence,  you  should  sa}',   "the  last  two," 
"the  last  llnee,"  "the  following  two,"  and  so  forth. 

F.  In  the  use  of  Adverbs. — 

41.  Do  not  use  inost  for  ahnosf;  viost  is  an  adjective.  Say, 
"It  is  almost  time,"  or,  "The  train  is  almost  here;"  not  must 
time  and  most  here. 

45.  Very  often  adjectives  are  used  where  adverbs  should 
stand,  as  in  the  following  common  mistakes: — 

I  did  not  need  his  assistance  very  bad. 
LucJii/,  I  do  not  need  his  lielp. 
I  see  it  plain. 

G.  In  the  use  of  Prepositions.— 

46.  Between  is  used  when  two  objects  are  in  question; 
among,  when  more  than  two  are  spoken  of;  as, — 

Tliey  pitclied  their  tent  between,  the  bluff  and  the  creek 
(two  objects). 

They  pitched  their  tent  amomj  the  trees.  (More  than 
two  objects.) 

Tliere  was  always  much  quarreling  «//io//^  the  members 
of  the  partj'. 

47.  //(  denotes  presence  inside  of;  into,  entrance  from  the 
outside  to  the  inside,  as  in  the  following:  — 

"He  walked  into  the  house." 

'•He  walked  //(  the  house." 
The  former  sentence  means  that  the  person  in  question  was 
outside  and  went  inside;  the  latter,  that  he  was  inside  all  the 
time,  even  while  he  walked. 

H.     In  the  Construction  of  Sentences.— 

48.  Do  not  say  "the  house's  roofs, "  "the  city's  churches, " 
"our  country's  future, "  etc.      These  nouns  are  all  lifeless  and 


ELEMENTARY  RHETORIC.  79 

oan,  cousequently,  not  possess  auj'tliiiig.  Instead,  say  "the 
roof  of  the  house,"  ''the  churches  of  the  city."  It  is  better  to 
avoid  this  possessive  construction  with  common  or  abstract 
nouns.  The  expressions  "a  week's  pay,"  "a  day's  work," 
seem  to  be  permissible. 

49.  ''The  judge  and  sheriff  brought  the  prisoner  to  town," 
seems  to  indicate  that  only  two  persons  were  concerned — the 
prisoner  and  another,  who  was  judge  and  sheriff  at  the  same 
time.  This  is  not,  of  course,  what  is  meant,  and  here  the 
sentence  should  begin,   "The  sheriff  and  the  judge." 

The  same  absurdity  is  seen  in  the  sentence,  "My  father  and 
uncle  met  me  at  the  train."'     The  sentence  should  read:— - 

"My  father  and  my  uncle  met  me  at  the  train." 

As  it  stands,  it  seems  to  mean  that  only  one  person,  who 
was  both  father  and  uncle,  met  you. 

50.  Often,  through  carelessness,  a  personal  or  relative  pro- 
noun is  not  put  in  agreement  with  its  antecedent,  as  in  the  fol- 
lowing:— 

"We  ought  not  to  give  the  Filipino  self-government, 
unless  we  are  sure  that  they  ctxn  govern  themselves." 

Here  thei/  and  t/tnnselces  refer  to  Filipino^  and  yet  do  not 
agree  with  it  in  number.  Either  make  Filipinu  plural,  or  use 
Itc  and  himself  instead  of  they  and  themselves. 

51.  The  adverb  only  is  nearly  always  wrongly  placed  in  a 
sentence,  thereliy  giving  a  meaning  not  intended;  as  in, — 

"The  teacher  only  intended  to  tell  us  about  Milton's 
marriiigo." 

This,  as  it  stands,  means  that  the  teacher  got  no  fiutiier 
than  intending;  she  only  intended  and  accomplished  nothing- 
more.     What  the  writer  of  this  sentence  really  meant  was,  that 


so  FIRST  ST Kl'S  IX   i:.\(  I LlSll  COMPOSITION. 

the  teacher  intended  of  Milton's  nuirriage  onhi,    and  of  iiothin<T 
else.      Onlji  is  in  the  wrong  place. 

52.  Sometimes  cnrious  absurdities  are  found  in  composi- 
tions.     Witness  the  following  two: — 

"While  sitting  on  the  seat  smokinj^  his  pipe,  the  h(jrsi! 
bolted  and  ran." 

This  horse,  from  his  varied  accomplishments,  should  have 
been  in  a  circus  ! 

"Entering  the  schoolroom,  his  nose  was  assailed  by  a 
suspicious  odor." 

The  owner  of  this  nose  should  lake  measures  to  prevent  its 
running  about  by  itself. 

These  mistakes  arise  from  the  employment  of  loose  parti- 
cipial constructions,  which  should,  if  possible.  l)e  avoided. 

53.  The  following  sentence  is  an  inextricable  muddle  be- 
cause the  reference  of  pronouns  is  not  clear: — 

"And  so  Mr.  Brown  told  his  son  that  if  he  spent  as 
much  money  that  year  as  he  had  in  the  past,  he 
would  be  forced  to  look  for  another  job." 

Who  had  spent  money  in  the  past?  Who  might  spend  as 
much  that  3-ear?     Who  would  have  to  look  for  another  job? 

Such  cases  of  ambiguity,  violent  as  many  of  them  are,  can 
generally  be  cured  by  transforming  part  of  the  sentence  in 
question  into  a  direct  quotation:  Thus,  "And  so  Mr.  Brown 
said  to  his  son,   'If  3'ou  spend,'"  etc. 

54.  In  the  following  sentence,  the  trouble  lies  in  the  ante- 
cedent to  the  pronoun: — 

"That  Sunday  <ieorge  took  a  sleigh-ride,  but  managed 
to  keep  the  paint  on  it  bright  and  new,  so  that  no  one 
suspected  him." 

Kept  the  paint  on  the  sleigh-ride  bright?     That  is  what  the 


ELEMENTARY  RHETORIC.  81 

sentence,  as  it  stands,  says.  The  writer,  of  course,  meant 
on  the  sleigh;  but,  while  he  had  that  word  in  his  mind  clearly 
enough,  he  forgot  to  get  it  into  his  sentence. 

55.  Often  the  plan  on  which  a  sentence  is  constructed  is 
changed  carelessly  and  unnecessarily  in  the  course  of  the  writ- 
ing; as  in  the  following, — 

"The  boys  put  in  most  of  their  time  fishing  under  the 
bridge,  but  going  after  bait  now  and  then." 

The    former    half    of  this    sentence  is    constructed    with    a 

regular   subject  and   predicate;    but  the    latter    half    with    a 

participle.     Such  a  change  should    not    be   made;    both  halves 

should  be  similar.    '-Went  aiiev  bait"    would  correspond    with 

'^piit  in  time." 

Again,  the  change  may  be  from  the  active  to  the  passive 
voice,  or  the  reverse;  as  in  this  sentence, — 

"In  their  hurry  to  get  out,  the  children  had  thrown 
their  books  and  wraps  on  the  floor;  even  the  hinges  of 
the  door  had  been  broken  by  them  in  their  excitement." 

The  former  half  of  this  compound  sentence  is  in  the  active 
voice;  the  latter,  in  the  passive.  It  is  better  to  keep  them 
alike.  In  this  case  say,  "and  they  had  even  broken  the  hinges 
ofT  the  dooi\"  etc. 

Still  another  instance  of  change  in  plan  is  seen  in  the  fol- 
lowing:— 

"I  did  not  remember  to  tell  mysisterof  tlie  picnic  we 
had  planned,  nor  that  she  should  biing  a  lunch." 

Here  the  first  statement  made  to  the  sister  is  in  the  form  of 
a  phrase  and  the  second  in  the  foKin  of  a  clause.  The  con- 
structions should  be  alike.  Either  change  the  latter  thus:  "nor 
of  the  lunch  she  should  living;"  or  the  former  thus:  "that  we 
bad  planned  a  picnic. ' ' 


CHAPTER  X. 

SOME  PRINCIPLES  UNDERLYING  THE  ART  OF  STORY-TELLING. 

I.  Where  to  Find  Materials.  —  It  is  ussuiued,  to  begin 
with,  that  you  have  ii  .story  to  tell.  And  you  probably  have. 
Stories  are  continually  suggesting  themselves  to  us,  so  tospeak. 
Some  brief  newspaper  item,  seen  by  chance,  may  cause  a  long 
and  interesting  tale — full  of  quaint  characters,  pathetic  experi- 
ences, interesting  adventures,  to  flash  through  the  mind.  In- 
deed, there  is  probably  no  fieltl  so  full  of  suggestions  for  sto- 
ries as  the  public  prints. 

Again,  some  occurrence  in  the  school ro'in  or  on  tlie  play- 
ground, in  the  street  or  about  the  railway  station  or  the  hotel, 
will  often  suggest  a  chain  of  circumstances  leading  up  to  it  or 
following  from  it.  Some  quaint  individual,  some  bit  of  trag- 
edy or  comedy,  accidentally  witnessed,  will  be  found  to  caiTy 
with  it  into  the  mind  a  mass  of  material  that  need  only  be  ar- 
ranged properly  to  form  a  story. 

Do  not  think  that  you  need  to  search  for  these  suggestions. 
They  are  continual!}'  coming  up.  In  fact,  their  very  fre- 
quency is  what  causes  them  to  l)e  oveilo(,>ked.  And,  further- 
more, do  not  feel  that  you  need  to  force  yourself  into  evolv- 
ing a  story  from  them.  These  matters  always  take  care  of 
themselves.  You  need  merely  watch  your  mind  at  work,  and 
try  to  remember  some  portion  of  what  you  see  it  do.  This 
ought  to  be  clear  to  you  from  your  work  with  the  preceding 
chapters. 

When  the  material  has  been  seized  upon  and  fixed,  so  to 
''peak,  in  the  rough,  the  following  principles  niay  be  of  assist- 

82 


I'RIN'CIPLES  I'XDERLYING  ART  OF  STORY-TELLING.      83 

aueo  ill  helping  you  make  a  readable  story  out  of  it.  It  would 
be  well  to  examine  some  of  the  novels  referred  to  in  the  sub- 
sequent pages,  and  to  observe  how  the  story  has  lieen  worked 
up  in  accordance  with  the  plans  set  forth  below. 

II.  First  Person  versus  Third  Person.— In  many  novels 
the  author  makes  one  of  the  characters  tell  the  story;  it  is 
written  in  the  first  person.  In  the  majority,  however,  he  tells 
it  himself— writes  in  the  third  person.  This  difference  you 
will  have  oliserved  often  enough.  D<n-i<I  Cojrpcyjield,  Treas- 
ure Idund^  Tiie  Prisoner  of  Zenda,  Under  the  Red  Robe,  The 
Strange  Ride  of  Morrowhie  Jukes,  are  well-known  instances  of 
the  first-person  story.  Each  method  has  its  advantages  and 
its  drawbacks. 

The  first  person  undoubtedly  makes  a  story  seem  more  real, 
and  is,  consequently,  to  be  preferred.  The  mind  accepts  the 
illusion  more  readily.  The  tale  becomes  more  vivid;  it  gets 
closer  to  us.  It  sounds  more  like  some  real  occurrence,  and 
we  forget  more  easily  that  it  is  only  a  story  after  all. 

But  this  plan  involves  two  distinct  disadvantages: 

(a)  In  the  first  place  the  teller  of  the  story  must  no»be  the 
"hero."  In  that  case,  if  he  be  himself  made  to  tell  of  the 
great  things  he  has  done,  and  of  the  mental  superiority  and 
physical  pre-eminence  he  enjoys  (and  these  qualities  a  '-hero" 
must  of  necessity  be  endowed  with),  he  will  seem  boastful  and 
egoistic.  A  disposition  to  brag  and  to  talk  about  himself  is 
a  trait  of  character  no  '-hero"  dare  for  a  moment  be  furnished 
with.  This  fault  seems  to  be  present  more  or  less  in  Under 
the  Red  Robr.  I,  at  least,  have  never  wholly  been  able  to 
overcome  a  latent  distaste  for  the  boastfulness  that  seems  to 


84  FIRST  STEPS  IX  ENGLISH  c'O.M POSITION. 

pervade  this  book.  But  this  dilliculty  may  be  avoided  by 
employing  the  device  mentioned  on  page  99. 

In  David  Copperfichl,  David  can  hardly  be  called  the 
'"hero;"'  he  is  subordinated  continuously  to  Micavvber,  Steer- 
forth,  and  Betsy  Trotwood.  Neither  is  the  boy  teller  of  the 
story  in  Treasnt-e  Jshuid  the  chief  character.  True,  he  ac- 
complishes great  things;  but  the  opportunities  come  to  him  ac- 
cidentally, as  it  wei-e,  and,  throughout,  his  account  of  him- 
self is  very  modest. 

(b)  Secondly,  if  you  employ  the  first  person,  you  will  be 
compelled  to  keep  your  reader  where  your  narrator  is;  you 
will  never  be  able  to  turn  aside  and  take  up  what  other  char- 
acters somewhere  else  are  doing.  How  can  your  story-teller 
know  what  is  happening  elsewhere? 

This  is  manifestly  a  handicap,  and  it  is  doubtful  if  a  first- 
person  story  can  ever  be  as  broad,  stately,  and  rich  in  charac- 
terization as  the  third-person  novel  or  tale  often  is.  What  it 
gains  in  verisimilitude,  it  loses  in  breadth  and  flexibility.  It 
is  best  adapted  to  tales  of  adventure. 

In  Tlie  Masttr  of  BaUantia',  Stevenson  very  skillfully  avoids 
this  difficulty  by  having  two  sections  of  the  story  consist  of 
journats,  kept  by  the  characters  while  they  are  on  expeditions 
that  take  them  away  from  the  narrator. 

A  very  common  expedient  for  bringing  distant  matter  into 
a  first-person  story  is  to  have  it  recounted,  for  our  benefit,  by 
the  character  who  has  played  his  part  in  it,  and  at  a  time  when 
the  personage  who  tells  the  story  itself  is  present.  You  can 
doubtless  think  of  instances  enough.  But  this  device  always 
breaks  into  the  continuity  of  the  tale — makes  it  seem  dis- 
jointed and  episodical. 

It  will,  no  doubt,  be  best  for  you,  in  the  l)eginning,  to  em- 


PRINCIPLES  UNDERLYING  ART  OF  STORY-TELLING.     85 

ploy  the  first  pei'sou  iu  your  stories,  just  as  you  did  in  your  en- 
vironment sketches  and  your  dialogues,  and  to  have  but  the 
single  thread  that  the  narrator  spins.  This  will  insure  unity, 
ease,  and  naturalness.  Later,  you  will  be  ready  to  attempt 
the  third-person  method. 

III.  Avoid  Monologues  and  Meditations. — ]Many  of  the 
older  storN'-writers,  and  some  of  our  modern  authors,  have  a 
way  of  chronicling  more  or  less  fully  the  thoughts  or  solitary 
mutte rings  of  some  character  whenever  they  think  the  reader 
stands  in  need  of  information  concerning  the  progress  oi 
events.      That  this  is  clumsy  would  seem  plain. 

In  the  first  place,  the  writer  should  make  his  events  follow 
each  other  so  naturally  that  the  reader  will  not  need  to  have 
them  explained.  Secondly,  how  can  the  author  know  what  the 
character  says  if  he  is  utterly  alone?  And  how  is  another  to 
know  a  character's  unspoken  thonrjhts!  The  reader  should  have 
the  sources  of  a  writer's  information  artistically  plain. 
Thirdly,  who  ever  heard  a  sane  man  talk  aloud  to  himself  the 
way  many  personages  in  fiction  are  made  to  do? 

If  an  author  cannot  set  forth  a  characters  personality  by 
means  of  acts,  environment,  and  dialogue,  he  employs  but  a 
flimsy  device  when  he  makes  him  analyze  and  ('X|)lain  his 
state  of  mind  himself. 

If  you  find  you  cannot  get  on  without  having  your  hero  ex- 
plain things,  at  least  have  some  other  figure  present  to  be 
talked  to. 

IV.  Premonitory  Allusions.  — In  a  broad  sense,  the  mate- 
rials of  a  story groui)  themselves  about  two  centers  —the  events 
and  the  characters. 


86  FIRST  SrEl-S  I  V  I':N(iLlSII   COMPOSITION. 

THE    EVENTS    OF    A    STORY. 

Keep  the  t'lid  of  tlu'  story  in  view  fi-om  the  Ijegiuniug,  anu 
let  your  reader  htive  u  glimpse,  now  and  then,  of  what  is  com- 
ing. Both  these  ol)jects  may  be  accomplished  if  you  insert, 
from  time  to  time,  in  the  early  part  of  your  tale,  certain 
mysterious  hints  or  allusions  bearing  on  the  matter  to  come. 
This  is  virtually  the  same  principle  that  you  became  familiar 
with  in  writing^  narratives. 

Thus,  in  the  opening  chapter  of  The  (^risis,  after  the  author 
has  gotten  the  homeless  and  I'atiier  unprincipled  Eliphalet 
Hopper  into  the  employ  of  Colonel  Carvel,  he  inserts  the  fol- 
lowing vague,  premonitory  paragraph: — 

(a)  Many  a  time  in  after  life  had  the  Colonel  reason  to 
think  over  this  scene.  The  one  and  sufficient  reason 
for  giving  work  to  a  homeless  boy,  from  the  bated  ^ta'e 
of  the  Liberator,  was  charity.  Tlie  Colonel  had  bis 
moods,  like  many  another  worthy  man.  The  small 
specks  on  the  Imrizon  sometimes  grow  into  the  hugest 
of  thunder  clouds.  And  an  act  of  charity,  out  of  the 
wisdom  of  God,  may  produce  on  this  earth  either  good 
or  evil. — Cn.  I,  I>ook  1. 

Thus  we  see  how  the  author  is  looking  ahead  himself,  and 
how  he  is  keeping  alive  his  reader's  expectancy. 

Notice  how  the  following  extracts  likewise  produce  a  feeling 
of  vague  dread  in  our  mind: — 

(b)  They  were  prophetic  words,  but  this  we  knew  not. 
Yet  you  shall  liear. — P>esant,  llie  ]Vorld  Wjiit  Very  Well 
Then.     Ch.  viii. 

(c)  I  have  laid  away  so  many  that  I  loved  in  the  howe  of 
tlie  Glen  since  then,  and  seen  so  many  places  of  this  Scot- 
land red  with  a  crimson  the  bell-heather  never  made. 


PRINCIPLES  I^NDERLYING  ART  OF  ftTORY-TELLIN(J.      87 

Ay  nie!  for  the  times  that  were,  and  for  all  that  is  come 
and  gone,  whereof  it  shall  be  mine  to  tell.* — Crockett, 
The  Men  of  The  Moss  Hags.     Cn.  i. 

But  such  hints,  to  be  of  value,  must  really  refer  forward 
and  not  back. 

As  an  instance  of  how  the  mind  is  turned  back  and  delayed, 
I  know  of  nothing  better  than  the  conversation  between  George 
Harris  and  Eliza  in  UiicJe  Toms  Cabin.  On  page  20  of  the 
book  he  is  made  to  say,  "Yes,  Ijutwho  knows?  He  may  die, 
and  then  he  may  be  sold  to  noi)ody  knows  who."  This,  of 
course,  is  preparatory  to  the  selling,  later  on,  of  Harris'  boy 
and  of  Uncle  Tom.  But  we  know  of  this  whole  transaction 
from  the  first  page ;  the  hint  does  not  hurry  our  imagination 
on  at  all.  Indeed,  the  book  abounds  in  such  retrospective  al- 
lusions to  what  we  know  perfectly  well. 

V.  Leading  up  to  the  Important  Event. — The  writer  of  a 
story  should  make  his  chief  event  grow  naturally  out  of  some 
insignificant  incident  which  the  reader,  at  the  time,  does  not  at 
all  suspect  will  have  important  consequences.  This  is,  in  a 
sense,  the  reverse  of  Principle  IV.  Following  that  principle, 
the  writer  hinted  at  great  things  to  come.  Here  he  brings  his 
reader  unsuspectingly  into  the  presence  of  these  important 
matters,  while  he  is  already  fully  interested  in  the  minor  inci- 
dents. 


*qrESTI0N9. 

(a).  1.  Fromthesound  of  this,  do  we  think  it  is  "good"  or  "evil"  that  willensue? 

2.  What  comparison  suggests  your  inference? 

3.  What  word  in  the  third  sentence  from  the  end  suggests  that  the  Colonel's 
act  was  unadvised? 

4.  ^Vhat  clause  in  the  first  sentence  points  the  same  way? 

(c)    1.    Do  we  suspect  tbat  the  t'lle  to  come  will  be  pleasant  or  gloomy? 
2.    Can  you  find  two  expressions  in  the  first  sentence  that  suggest  this? 


88  FIRST  sTicrs  IX  i:.\(;lisii  COMrOSlTlON. 

Tims,  in  Tom,  Stiioi/er,  the  principal  event,  prolttiljly,  is 
readied  where  Tom  and  Hueklel)err3'  witness  llic  murder  in 
the  gravej'ard.  Yet  they  had  stolen  ont  theic  in  tlie  night 
merely  to  get  rid  of  some  warts,  according  to  a  boyish  super- 
stition, liy  the  aid  of  a  dead  cat  and  a  new-made  grave.  We 
are  fully  taken  up  with  watching  Tom  creep  out  of  the  win- 
dow, wander  away  with  Huckleberry,  and  hide  near  the  grave. 
But  suddenly  we  find  that  we  have  been  brought  into  the 
presence  of  the  climax,  and  so  easily  has  this  l»een  done  that 
the  occurrence  seems  real  instead  of  fictitious.  The  worst 
fault  a  writer  can  be  guilt}-  of,  is  to  let  his  reader  suspect  that 
a  climax  is  lieing  prepared. 

Similarly,  in  Treasure  Island,  the  whole  story  turns  upon 
the  cabin-boy's  discovery  of  the  plot,  while  hidden  in  the 
famous  apple-] )arrel.  He  goes  up  on  deck  quite  naturally, 
one  night,  to  get  himself  a  couple  of  apples.  The  barrel  is 
near!}'  empty,  and  he  is  compelled  to  get  up  into  it  bodily. 
While  he  is  crouched  tliere,  the  conspirators  come  up  and  he 
hears  them  discuss  their  plans. 

This  apple-barrel  episode  is  one  of  the  best  bits  of  art  in  fic- 
tion. We  do  not  suspect,  even  at  the  very  last,  that  it  has 
been  brought  in  for  any  special  purpose.  Indeed,  Stevenson 
is  so  careful  to  disguise  his  intention,  that  he  has  the  barrel 
set  out  on  the  forecastle  early  in  the  book,  and  he  still  further 
disguises  his  object  1)}'  making  the  leader  of  the  expedition  say 
that  he  is  anxious  to  cultivate  the  good  will  of  the  men  by 
opening  the  barrel  of  apples  for  their  enjoyment. 

The  foundations  of  a  structui'c  should  be  laid  out  of  sight. 

One  of  the  most  important  events  in  Tlte  Crisis  is  the  attack 
on  Camp  Jackson.  This,  according  to  the  story,  is  precipi- 
tated l)y  Jack  Hrinsniade,  who  fires  a  pistol  at  a  Union  soldier. 


PRINCIPLES  UNDERLYING  ART  ()E  ST()RY-TELLIN(;.      80 

An  unskillful  writer  would  not  li;ivi'  devoted  any  thouLi'iit  to 
preparing  for  this.  Jack  would  have  been  conveniently  pres- 
ent; the  pistol  would  have  I)een  conveniently  in  his  pocket. 
In  fact,  everything  in  second-rate  fiction  is  so  remarkably  con- 
venient to  the  author's  purpose.  Whenever  he  needs  anything, 
lo  and  behold !  there  it  is. 

Not  so  Churchill.  Ten  pages  back,  he  gives  the  following 
paragraph: — 

Three  persons  came  out  of  the  big  house  next  door. 
One  was  Anne  Brinsmade;  and  the  other  was  her  father, 
his  white  hairs  uncovered.  The  third  was  Jack.  His 
sister  was  clinging  to  him  appealiiigly,  and  he  struggling 
in  her  grasp.  Out  of  his  coat  pocket  hung  the  curved 
butt  of  a  big  pepper-box  revolver. 

When  the  reader  peruses  this  paragraph,  he  does  not,  of 
course,  suspect  what  is  coming.  But  farther  on,  where  the 
climax  to  which  this  was  preliminary  has  been  reached,  he  be- 
comes aware,  in  a  sub-conscious  way,  that  the  author  has  been 
doing  something — has,  so  to  speak,  been  covering  his  tracks, 
la3dng  his  wires,  long  before.  It  is  this  skillful  interweaving 
of  the  threads  in  a  story  that  produces  much  of  the  artistic 
contentment,  and  fullness  of  satisfaction,  which  we  get  out  of 
good  fiction. 

On  the  contrary,  how  crude  is  the  work  of  writers  who 
do  not  thus  prepare  beforehand!  Their  heroes  always  find  a 
rope  ready  when  they  need  to  escape,  or  a  horse  saddled  when 
they  have  some  one  to  pursue,  or  a  closet  convenient  when  it 
is  necessary  for  them  to  overhear  something.  P]verything  is 
so  fit  that  no  special  effort  is  required  to  be  a  hei'o.  Nor  is 
any  great  demand  made  upon  a  writer's  skill,  if  he  need  do  no 
more    than    calmly   construct   horses,    carriages,    axes,    files, 


90  Fii:sT  ,'^ti-:p>  ix  kx(;t,tsii  (v^ArrosiTioN. 

ropes,  or  biirrels  of  <j;iin powder,  out  of  iioihinu-,  whenever  his 
hero  needs  them.  What  author  eainiot  get  his  hero  out  of 
scrapes  ])y  such  easy  means? 

Uncle  Toins  Cahia  sins  in  this  matter  also.  One  of  the 
chief  events  in  the  story  occurs  near  the  beginning,  where 
Eliza  overhears  Mr.  Shelliy  relate  how  he  had  sold  her  boy. 
It  is  necessary  she  should  hear  this,  and  so  a  convenient  closet 
is  suddenly  constructed  for  her  to  slip  into.  How  easily  Mrs. 
Stowe  might  have  mentioned  this  closet  incidentally  befoi'e- 
hand,  while  deseril>ing  tlie  room,  and  thus  have  gotten  her 
foundations  laid! 

VI.  Overcoming  the  Reader's  Incredulity.  — It  often  hap- 
pens, when  a  story  is  being  told  onilly,  that  some  auditor  in- 
terrupts with  vigorous  expressions  of  unl)elief.  That  is  be- 
cause his  credulity  is  overtaxed. 

But  a  writer  who  is  sensitive  in  such  matters,  and  whose 
feelings  are  intuitively  in  accord  with  the  attitude  of  his  pro- 
spective reader,  will  often  succeed  in  telling  extraordinary  and 
improbable  events,  without  causing  the  reader,  for  a  moment, 
to  doul)t  their  actuality.  The  best  examples,  probably,  of 
such  skill  are  to  be  found  in  Quo  Vadis  and  Trilby. 

In  the  former  story,  the  climax  comes  with  the  famous 
struggle  between  Ursus  and  the  aurochs  in  the  Arena.  This 
is  extremely  powerful  and  extraordinary.  Had  it  not  been 
prepared  for,  we  should  not  have  given  credence  for  a  mo- 
ment. -'Nonsense,  how  could  he  do  that?"  would  probably 
have  been  our  unspoken  comment.  But,  long  before  this, 
Ursus  is  made  to  break  the  back  of  Nero's  prize  wrestler, 
Croton;  and  even  still  farther  towards  the  beginning,  the 
liitter  is  made  to  give  an  exhibition  of  his  great  strength. 


PRINTIPLKS  r.\DERLYIN( ;  A  KT  ( )F  STOR  Y-TELLIXG.      91 

lu  Trilbi/,  the  story  turns  upon  the  remarkable  hypnotic 
influence  which  Svengali  acquired  over  the  heroine.  Had  this 
been  set  forth  without  preparation,  it  never  for  a  moment 
could  have  escaped  doing  violence  to  our  sense  of  probability. 
Hence,  long  l:)efore  this,  the  author,  in  a  purely  incidental 
way,  makes  Svengali,  among  other  unimportant  matters,  cure 
Trilby,  by  hypnotic  suggestion,  of  an  attack  of  tooth-ache  from 
which  she  happened  to  be  sufliering. 

B3'  getting  us  to  take,  without  objection,  that  which, 
though  extraordinary,  is  at  any  rate  within  the  realm  of  prob- 
altility— the  author  disarms  us,  so  to  speak,  and  succeeds  in 
administering  that  which  is  utterly  improbable  and  impossible 
and  which,  had  it  been  presented  to  begin  with,  would  never 
have  gone  down. 

VI.  Atmosphere. — By  the  atmosphere  of  a  story,  is  meant 
the  general  air  of  sadness,  gaiety,  horror,  or  cheerfulness  that 
seems  to  pervade  it.  This  frequently  results,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  from  the  dialogue  or  the  events  themselves.  Yet  often 
a  writer  deliberately  spends  time  upon  producing  it,  and  in  so 
doing,  actually  makes  use  of  the  weather  itself. 
Consider  the  following:  — 

In  a  little  while  I  got  her  to  lie  down;  but  the  most 
simple  may  understand  how  much  more  sleep  there  was 
in  Earlstoun  that  night.  Yet,  though  we  listened  with 
all  our  ears,  we  heard  no  other  sound  than  jn.st  tliat 
blind  and  unkindly  wind  riestling  and  soughing  about 
the  house,  groping  at  the  doors,  and  trying  the  lattices. 
Not  a  footstep  went  across  the  courtyard,  not  a  cry  of  a 
bird  came  over  the  moors,  till  behind  the  barren  ridges 
of  the  east  the  morning  broke.— Crockett,  The  Men  of  the 
Mosf  Hug:*,  Ch.  III. 


92  l'li;s'P  STEPS  IN  EN(il.Isil  COMPOSITION. 

This  seems  to  be  inserted  here  for  no  other  pui-pose  than  to 
produce  a  feeling  of  desolate  melancholy.  ft  really  contrib- 
utes nothing  to  the  movement  of  tlie  story. 

Some  of  the  best  examples  of  "atmosphere'"  to  be  found  in 
recent  fiction  are  seen  in  Stevenson's  The  Merry  M<  h  and  117// 
o'  the  Mi/I. 

The  '-atmosphere"  should  always  be  sultordinate  to  the 
other  elements  of  a  story.  When  developed  to  the  virtual  ex- 
clusion of  character  and  events,  it  gives  rise  to  what  is  called 
Jinpressiouism — a  form  of  writing  with  many  exterior  ciiarms, 
but  without  the  substance  that  gives  permanent  value. 

THE    CHARACTERS    OF    A    STORY. 

There  are  at  least  five  distinct  ways  of  setting  forth  char- 
acter in  stories. 

I.  Description. — In  Chapter  V[T  you  were  made  accpiainted 
with  the  propel'  way  to  describe  persons — were  taught  to  omit 
the  obvious  and  to  insert  the  individualizing  traits.  Many 
writers  sin  greatl}'  in  this  matter.  First  they  give  us  the 
character's  age,  sex,  color  of  hair,  shape  of  nose,  form  of 
mouth,  and  so  forth.  Then  they  touch  upon  his  ancestrv  a 
little,  and  tell  us  about  his  bringing-up.  Next  they  detail  his 
mental  and  moral  traits — he  is  cheerful,  intelligent,  morose,  or 
stupid,  has  high  ideals  or  is  a  villain,  until  we  turn  over  two 
leaves  at  a  time.  Compare  with  such  work  the  fresh,  visualiz- 
ing effect  of  the  following: — 

Bill  Jenks  was  Captain  Brent's  senior  pilot.  His  skin 
hung  on  his  face  in  folds,  like  that  of  a  rhinoceros.  It 
was  very  much  the  same  color.  His  grizzled  hair  was 
all    lengths,  like  a   worn-out  mop;  his  hand  reminded 


PRINCIPLES  UNDERLYING  ART  OF  STORY-TELLING.     93 

one  of  an  eagle's  claw,  and  his  teeth  were  a  pine  yellow. 
He  greeted  only  auch  as  he  deemed  worthy  of  notice. 
—Churchill,  xiie  Crhis,  Ch.  XXII,  Bk.  II. 

Presently  a  man  with  a  gnawed  yellow  mustache 
and  a  shifty  eye  walks  out  of  one  of  the  offices  and  per- 
ceives our  friend.  — Ibid. 

The  secret  of  such  descnpti(^u  lies  in  the  writer's  power  of 
visualizing,  and  in  nothing  else.  If  you  must  describe  your 
characters,  do  it  by  means  of  individualizing  touches. 

II.  Environment. —The  value  of  en\ironment  in  setting 
forth  character  should  be  clear  from  chapters  IV  and  V.  It 
is  a  favorite  method  with  many  writers.  Examples  may  be 
found  in  any  good  novel. 

III.  Dialogue.— If  you  have  mastered  the  substance  of 
Chapter  VI,  you  are  fully  able,  without  any  further  instruc- 
tion, to  handle  this  device  for  portraying  character.  Two 
cautions  are,  however,  necessary: — 

1.'  Make  the  personages  of  your  story  talk  only  In  char- 
acter, so  to  speak — onlj'  when  you  intend  to  have  their  char- 
acter show  forth.  Do  not  use  them  as  a  means  of  giving  the 
reader  information  about  the  events  of  the  story — do  that 
yourself  directly.  If  3'our  characters  be  made  to  converse 
with  no  other  object,  they  will  fade  out,  become  neutral,  un- 
differentiated;  you  will  be  tearing  down  what  your  environ- 
ment, dialogue,  and  description  built  up. 

2.  Do  not  add  words  of  your  own  after  the  speeches  in  a 
dialogue,  to  explain  them.  Trust  to  your  reader's  under- 
standing. If  the  peculiarity  of  character  you  have  in  mind 
stands  out  clearly  in  the  speech,  the  explanatory  remark  is 
not  necessary.     If  you  have  not  made  it  plain,  you  should  work 


04  FIRST  STEPS  IX  KN(;LISII  CO.MroSITIoN. 

over  the  dialogue  till  you  succeed  in  doing  so.  And,  moreover, 
such  exphuuitions  deprive  conversation  of  its  effectiveness. 
Notice  the  following:  — 

"Cruel  devils,  aren't  they,  Allie,"  said  one,  a  tall,  fair 
man.  "Wliy,  you've  turned  pale,  despite  the  rouge." 
His  tone  was  fnll  of  mil  over-respectful  raillery. 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  Krlt"n,"  she  replied  promptly;  and 
the  even,  somewhat  hard,  pitch  of  her  voice  did  not 
match  the  extreme  softness  of  her  small,  childish  face. 
— STEKiJi;,  On  the  Face  of  the  Waterfi. 

Surely  we  do  not  need  to  he  told  that  the  former  speech  is 
lacking  in  respectfulness,  or  that  it  is  one  of  raillery.  And  if 
the  latter  remark  fails  to  sound  hard,  cold,  and  even,  the  ex- 
planation appended  is  in  itself  a  confession  of  weakness.  The 
author  should  have  changed  it,  or  added  to  it.  until  it  were 
satisfactory  in  itself. 

It  is  wearisome  to  have  things  pointed  out  to  us  that  we 
either  can  see  for  ourselves,   or  already  know. 

IV.  Inferences. — If  I  look  out  of  the  window  on  a  rainy 
day,  and  see  the  people  walking  past  with  their  umbrellas 
down,  I  at  once  make  an  inference — the  rain  has  ceased.  The 
stopping  of  the  rain  is  the  cause ;  the  closing  of  umbrellas,  the 
effect. 

If  I  should  see  them  a  little  later  with  their  umbrellas  up,  I 
should  know  that  the  rain  had  liegun  again.  Here  the  begin- 
ning of  the  rain  is  the  cause;  and  the  opening  of  umbrellas, 
the  effect. 

Now,  it  will  be  noticed  that,  in  both  these  instances,  the 
effect  is  observed  first  and  the  cause  later.  The  time  between 
the   two  may   be   so    short    that   it    will  seem   they   coincide. 


PRINCIPLES  UNDERLYING  ART  OF  STORY-TELLING.      95 

But  a  little  reflection  will  tell   us  tliat  there  must  intervene  a 
mental  process.     This  mental  process  is  an  inference. 

And — what  is  most  important  for  our  purpose — it  is  not 
necessary  that  we  deliberately  set  about  making  it;  it  is  made 
by  our  natural  mental  vigor,  whether  we  wish  or  no. 

It  will  have  been  noted  already,  that  this  matter  of  infer- 
ence from  effect  to  cause  is  nothing  more  than  what  lies  at  the 
bottom  of  the  environment  sketch  and  the  dialogue.  The 
man's  shiftlessness  in  Chapter  IV  was  the  cause;  the  weeds  in 
his  dooi'-yard  and  the  sock  in  the  window-pane  of  his  house 
were  effects.  The  lioy's  overbearing  disposition  in  Chapter  VI 
was  the  cause;  the  command,  "Hurry  up  with  those  worms, 
will  you!"  was  an  effect.* 

Hence,  if  I  see  a  farmer  come  to  town  in  the  winter,  tic 
up  his  horses  in  a    howling   blizzard,    and  let  them  stand  un 
covered   all    day,    I    know    his    character — he  is  thoughtless, 
cruel,  and  without  regard  for  dumb  animals.      I  "size  him  up" 
as  the  saying  goes ;  and  it  is  through  inferences  that  I  do  it. 

The  circumstances  inferred  from  the  effects  mentioned  at  the 
head  of  this  section  were  events;  those  inferred  here  are  traits 
of  chardeter. 

In  regard  to  the  former  of  these  varieties,  suffice  it  to  say 
that  they  are  much  to  be  preferred  to  the  direct  narrative. 
How  much  more  graphic  it  is  to  say  "a  stream  of  omnibuses, 
hacks,  express  wagons,  and  pedestrians  moved  up  from  the 
station"  than  to  say  "the  train  arrived." 

As  to  inferences  of  charactei-.  note  the  following  two  spe^;- 
imens :  — 


♦Compare  Sueuman,  Analytics  of  Literature. 


96  FIRST  STEPS  IN  ENGLISH  COMPOSITION. 

The  overseer  laughed  coarsely.  "What,  skeered  on 
'em"  (the  negro  slaves),  said  he.  And,  seizing  the  girl 
by  the  cheek,  he  gave  it  a  cruel  twinge  that  brought  a 
cry  out  of  her.*— Cuurciiill,  The  Crisis,  Cu.  I. 

Still  she  thought  she  heard  the  trader  make  an  offer 
for  her  boy;— could  she  be  mistaken?  Her  heart  swelled 
and  throbbed,  and  she  involuntarily  strained  him  so 
tight  that  the  little  fellow  looked  up  into  her  face  in  as- 
tonishment. 

"Eliza  girl,  what  ails  you  today  ?  "  said  her  mistress, 
when  Eliza  had  upset  the  wash-pitcher,  knocked  down 
the  workstand,  and  finally  was  abstractedly  offering  her 
mistress  a  long  nightgown  in  place  of  the  silk  dress  she 
had  ordered  her  to  bring  from  the  wardrobe. f — Uncle 
Tom's  Cabin,  Ch.  I. 

In  Chaptei's  IV,  V,  and  VI,  you  mastered  the  art  of  con- 
structing environment  and  dialogue  so  as  to  make  the  reader 
infer  either  events  or  character.  Here  you  are  to  invent  acts 
for  the  personages  of  your  story  that  will  accomplish  the  same 
result. 

V.  Inferences  that  Reverse  Previous  Expectations. — 
Suppose  a  pretty  little  girl  has  fallen  into  a  stream.  Suppose, 
further,  that  a  young  man  of  athletic  build  and  dressed  in  a 
working  suit  comes  by,  jumps  in,  and  rescues  her.  This  act 
would  bring  about  a  character  inference  in  our  mind,  and  we 
should  praise  him  for  the  deed. 

But  suppose  it  is  a  little  boy,  weak,  ragged,  and  unable  to 
swim,  who  effects  a  rescue   Irf    paddling  out  to  her  on  a  board 


QUESTIONS. 

*  What  is  the  character  yon  infer  here,  and  from  what  words  do  you  infer  it? 
t  1.  What  was  the  cause  of  Eliza's  upsetting  the  wash-pitcher? 

2.  Where  are  there  two  more  circumstances  that  point  to  the  same  cause? 

3.  What  is  the  state  of  mind  inferred? 


PRINCIPLES  UNDERLYING  ART  OF  STORY-TELLING.     97 

at  the  risk  of  his  life.  We  raise  him  on  our  shoulders,  bring 
him  to  the  little  girl's  house,  and  make  up  a  purse  for  him. 

Now  the  effect  or  result  of  the  act  was  the  same  in  both 
cases, — the  little  girl  was  saved.  But,  in  the  latter  instance, 
the  trait  of  character  inferred  was  so  unexpected — so  entirely 
opposed  to  what  we,  in  view  of  the  boy's  appearance,  had  a 
right  to  look  for,  that  it  overturned  our  previous  expectations 
entirel}'.  This  is  why  we  go  so  much  farther  in  our  admira- 
tion of  his  deed.  Having  expected  nothing  of  him,  we  credit 
him  with  so  much  more.  Action  and  reaction  are  equal  and  in 
opposite  directions. 

This  is  the  most  powerful  means  of  portraying  character. 
It  is  also  the  easiest.  Excellent  examples  may  be  found  in 
The  Crisis,  particularly  in  the  treatment  of  Lincoln.  Kipling's 
A  Second-Rate  Woman  is  built  entirely  upon  this  principle  of 
reversed  inference.      OtlulJo  also  is  constructed  on  this  plan.* 

In  writing  a  story  on  these  lines,  the  climax  of  course  comes 
with  the  unexpected  act  itself.  But,  before  this,  there  should 
be  inserted  two  or  three  hints  of  a  derogatory  sort  to  insure 
that  the  reader  have  a  proper  preliminary  contempt  for  the 
character  to  be  sketched.  And,  to  make  it  fully  artistic, 
there  should  further  be  inserted,  very  guardedly,  according  to 
the  principles  given  on  page  86,  one  or  two  other  hints  prepar- 
ing us  for  the  reversal  when  it  comes.  Otherwise  our  credulity 
might  be  overtaxed,  and  the  whole  scheme  spoiled. 

VI.     Make    Inferences   and   Description   Correspond.— It 

often  happens  in  stories  that,  after  a  certain  character  has 
been  built  up  in  our  mind  by  inferences,  it  is  dashed  to  pieces 
again  by  a  paragraph  of  adverse  direct    description.      This  is, 

*See  Sherman's  Analytics  of  Literature. 


98  FIRST  STEPS  IN  ENCiLISII  CO:\rPOSITION. 

of  course,  the  writer's  fault;  he  should  have  been  more  care- 
ful. 

Thus,  in  Howell's  .1  Foregone  Conclusion,  we  are  at  first  in- 
clined, through  inferences,  to  figure  Don  Ippolito  to  ourselves 
as  a  portly,  middle-aged  Spaniard,  and  are  surprised  later 
when  informed  that  he  is  a  somewhat  thin  Italian,  thirty  years 
of  age. 

In  Barrie's  Sentimental  Tommy,  the  direct  description,  page 
30,  —  -'he  was  a  thin,  pale  boy — "  comes  as  a  surprise;  pre- 
vious inferences  have  led  us  to  think  otherwise. 

The  most  remarkable  instance  of  carelessness  in  this  matter 
is  found  in  Paradise  Lost.  Milton  certainly  could  not  have  in- 
tended Satan  to  be  the  "hero"  of  his  poem.  Yet  this  he  un- 
doubtedly is.  It  is  impossible  to  keep  a  character  from  being 
a  hero,  who  gives  utterance  to  sentiments  like:  — 

"The  mind  is  its  own  place,  and  in  itself 

Can  make  a  Heaven  of  Hell,  a  Hell  of  Heaven." 

*    *     "To  be  weak  is  miserable. 

Awake,  arise,  or  be  forever  fallen! 

Better  to  reign  in  Hell  than  serve  in  Heaven!" 

•  The  superior  effectiveness  of  inferences  over  description  is  a 
principle  which  Milton  does  not  seem  to  have  grasped. 

VII.  Shielding  the  Characters. — Now  and  then,  in  the 
course  of  constructing  a  story,  the  author  may  find  himself 
compelled  to  let  his  hero  do  things  that  trench  closely  upon 
what  is  not  permissible,  and  thus  endanger  our  regard  for  him. 
But  if  the  writer's  mind  is  sensitive  to  what  the  reader  will 
feel,  he  need  merely  put  into  words  the  very  objection  the 
reader  will  have  in  mind,  and  it  will  vanish. 

Thus,  in  As  Yoa  Like  It.  Shakespeare  finds  it  unavoidable  to 


PRINCIPLES  UNDERLYINCi  ART  OF  STORY-TELLING.      1)9 

have  liis  heroine,  Rosalind,  present  at  what  was,  virtuull3%  a 
prize-fight.  This  we  all  feel  is  certainly  dangerous;  it  risks 
ruining  her  as  a  heroine.  Yet  how  completely  we  are  dis- 
armed when  Touchstone  is  made  to  utter  our  A'ery  sentiments 
and  to  say:  — 

"It  is  the  first  time  that  ever  I  heard  breaking  of  bones 
was  sport  for  ladies."     1,2,121. 

In  Ticelfth  Night  the  mixture  of  plots,  counterplots,  prac- 
tical jokes,  and  misunderstandings  reaches  its  climax  about 
the  middle  of  Act  III.  Shakespeare  fears  it  is  l)eginning  to  be 
rather  overdone  and  unnatural.  But  when  Fal)ian  is  made  to 
say:  — 

"If  this   were   played  upon  a  stage  now,  I  could  con- 
demn it  as  an  improbable  fiction,"— III,  4,  121,  N.  B. 

our  latent  objection  passes  and  we  feel  it  it  all  very  proper. 

Mtrcly  forestcdling  the  reader  or  hcorer  in  expressing  clisap- 
procal  banishes  it.  Or,  in  other  words:  //  iiou  admit  freely 
and  incidentedJy  beforehand  the  points  that  you  know  to  be  unten- 
able, and  that  are  immateriaJ,  you  disarm  your  opponent. 

In  The  ExjAoits  of  Brigadier  Gerard,  Doyle  chooses  to  have 
the  adventures  told  l)y  the  hei*o  himself.  The  inevitable 
egoism  of  first-person  stories,  thus  recounted,  appears.  But 
the  author  is  alive  to  the  presence  of  this  feeling  of  distaste, 
and  merely  makes  the  hero  himself  apologize  from  time  to 
time  for  it,  on  the  ground  that  he  is  an  old  man  and  that  his 
youth  really  has  been  very  stirring.  We  smile  indulgently  at 
his  weakness  and  love  him  all  the  more. 

Another  skillful  way  of  shielding  the  character  is  seen  in 
Mrs.  Ward's  Marcella.  About  the  middle  of  the  book  the 
author  finds  it  necessary  to  have  tlic  heroine  leave  her  cliamber 


100  FIRST  STEPS  IN  ENGLISH  COMPOSITION. 

at  iiiulniglit  and  go  dnwn  into  tlic  lilmiry  to  meet  a  man,  by 
whom  she  is  kissed  and  otherwise  disrespectfully  treated. 

This  certainly  endangers  our  regartl  for  her  in  the  extreme. 
Yet  the  author  has,  from  the  first,  kept  dimly  before  us  the 
fact  that  there  are  rumors  of  a  ghost  in  the  house.  This 
Marcella  thinks  of  when  she  hears  inullled  steps  in  the  hall- 
wa}';  and  it  is  to  test  the  li'uth  of  this  rumor  and  not  to  seek  a 
midnight  interview  that  she  descends  to  the  library  where  the 
(iciioiirmcitt  i'oUows.  Hence  she  is  kept  within  our  sympathies, 
despite  the  questionable  procedure.  The  ghost  in  M<ircrlhi  is 
a  very  skillful  bit  of  art. 

In  conclusion,  let  it  be  said  that  the  mental  i)rocesses  so 
often  referred  to  al)Ove  are  not  those  of  logic.  Tn  discussicjns 
about  literature,  logic  is  of  no  account.  Instead,  it  is  our 
feelings  we  must  be  guided  by.  A  close  analysis  of  our 
moods  and  impressions  is  the  only  way  there  is  to  understand 
the  informing  spirit  of  literature. 

EXERCISES  FOR  PRACTICE. 

The  principles  that  we  have  now  discussed  may  all  be  seen 
in  the  construction  of  any  good  novel.  The  short  story,  how- 
ever, is  episodical  and  fragmentary ;  it  deals  with  a  portion 
only  of  what  a  novel  treating  the  same  material  would  contain. 
It  employs,  therefore,  but  one  or  two  of  the  above  devices. 

In  writing  stories,  make  large  use  of  dialogue,  description, 
individualizing  touches  and  environment.  Remember  how 
the  many  stories  you  have  read  were  constructed.  Do  not 
make  your  tale  concise  and  dry  like  a  newspaper  account; 
make  it  varied  and  interesting.  Have  some  sort  of  mystery 
in  it  that  gets  cleared  up  in  the  climax.  Make  real  '-heroes" 
of   your   characters.      Be  ingeiii.ius  in  inventing    plots.      Pro- 


PRINCIPLES  UNDERLYING  ART  OE  STORY-TELLING.    ]01 

ceed  veiT  much   as  yon  would  if  j'ou  were  telling"  your  story 
orally. 

Above  all,  do  not  be  silly;  keep  within  the  bounds  of  proba- 
bilit}',  and  do  not  think  that  the  funn}-  story  is  the  only 
variety  worth  telling.  How  large  a  proportion  of  the  stories 
you  have  read  within  the  past  year  were  humorous? 

1.  Inferences.*  —  1.  Write  a  short  stor}-  about  a  young 
man  who  goes  to  the  city  to  visit  his  cousin.  Invent  six  ac- 
tions to  show  that  he  comes  from  the  countr}-. 

2.  Write  a  story  about  a  young  man  and  show,  by  means 
of  six  acts,  that  he  is  from  the  city  and  is  making  his  first 
visit  to  the  country. 

3.  Write  a  story  about  a  newsbo}'  and  invent  occurrences 
for  him  which  will  show  that  he  is  courageous,  honest,  and 
kind-liearted. 

4.  Write  a  story  about  two  boys  so  as  to  show  that  one  is 
overbearing,  rich,  and  in  good  health,  while  the  other  is  poor, 
sickl}',  and  melancholy.      Show  tin's  hy  actions. 

5.  Write  a  story  about  a  lady  and  her  cook  and  invent 
acts  to  show  that  the  latter  is  worthless. 

6.  Write  a  story  about  a  young  lady  stenographer,  and  in- 
vent as  many  actions  as  jo\x  can  to  show  that  she  is  a  failure 
in  her  profession. 

7.  Write  a  story  about  a  group  of  men  in  a  store  and 
show  by  acts  that  they  are  loafers. 

8.  Write  a  story  about  an  old  woman  in  a  little  town  and 
show  by  acts  that  she  is  a  widow,  is  very  poor,  and  has  a 
worthless  son  whom  she  loves  very  much. 


*The  teacher  should  be  on  his  guard  here,  as  with  the  environment  .sketch 
and  the  dialogue,  lest  the  pupils  describe  t.iese  personages  instead  of  setting 
forth  their  character  by  acts. 


lOJ  Fll;sT  STEPS  IN    ENGLISH  COMPOSITION. 

!>.  Writ*'  ;i  story  ulxmt  :i  inysU-iious  house,  a  group  of 
men,  and  a  j^olice  officer,  so  as  to  show  by  acts  that  the  men 
are  engaged  in  some  seci'et,  unlawful  pursuit,  and  that  the 
[)olice  oIHcer  is  shrewd.  (Let  the  mysterious  occupation  be 
eoun*^^crfelting.*l(ut  do  not  let  the  cat  out  of  the  bag  to  start 
with  by  saying  so.  Make  much  use  of  the  individualizing 
touch  here). 

II.  Atmosphere. — Huijpose  it  be  desired  to  produce  in  the 
reader  of  your  story  a  feeling  of  gloom.  This  may  be  done 
liy  means  of  a  paragi'uph  like  the  following: 

•'Neither  on  that  morning  did  the  sun  rise.  The  same 
dull,  leaden  sky  shut  down  over  U3.  The  fire  in  the 
grate  smoked  as  always.  Outside,  the  ceaseless  rain  fell 
softly  and  silently  in  perpendicular  stripes,  seen  against 
the  murky  background  of  the  trees.  From  time  to  time, 
a  leaf  dropped  heavily  upon  the  grass.  The  houses  op- 
posite loomed  indistinct  in  the  mist.  The  smoke  col- 
umns from  their  chimneys  drooped  disconsolately 
earthward." 

Notice:  first,  how  the  details  are  drawn  from  the  sky,  the 
air,  the  ground,  the  houses,  and  so  forth;  secondly,  how  every- 
thing that  does  not  help  out  the  special  object  of  producing  a 
I'tH'ling  of  melancholy  is  omitted. 

1.  In  the  same  way,  describe  a  bit  of  landscape  so  as  to 
produce  a  feeling  of  contentment  and  peace  in  the  reader. 
(See  the  opening  lines  of  Gray's  Elegy). 

2.  Describe  a  landscape  in  such  a  way  that  the  reader 
shall,  if  possil)le,  be  made  to  shiver  with  cold. 

3.  Describe  another  bit  of  landscape  so  that  the  reader 
shall  lie  impressed  with  the  great  heat  that  prevails  there. 


PRINCIPLES  UNDERLYING  ART  OF  STORY-TELLING.    103 

4.  Describe  a  bit  of  street  so  as  to  convey  as  strong  an  im- 
pression as  possible  of  deep  darkness. 

III.  Premonitory  Allusions.  — L  Suppose  you  were  writ- 
ing a  story  about  a  number  of  mysterious  burglaries  that  had 
been  made  possible  by  means  of  a  great  chimney,  through 
which  the  thief  had  gained  entrance.  Eai'ly  in  the  story  you 
would  insert  a  sentence  or  two  like  the  following: 

But  the  most  striking  feature  about  this  colonial  dining- 
room  was  the  great  ancient  fire-place,  where  large 
logs  crackled  in  the  winter  nights,  and  from  which  a 
huge  chimney  led  upward  to  the  roof.  If  there  were  a 
real  Santa  Claus  in  the  world,  he  would  certainly  find 
no  difficulty  in  gaining  entrance  to  this  house. 

This  would  be  inserted  near  the  opening — preferably  where 
the  rooms  and  the  people  were  described.  Notice  how  the 
fireplace  is  mentioned  as  one  only  in  a  list  of  items  and  how  its 
subsequent  importance  is  further  disguised  by  the  reference  to 
Santa  Claus.      Now  write  the  story. 

2.  Think  up  a  stor}'  in  which  your  hero  is  chased  by  a 
bear  and  escapes  in  the  nick  of  time  over  a  gully  on  a  board 
which  breaks  under  the  pursuer;  and,  in  the  opening,  bring 
in  a  carefully  disguised  hint  at  the  presence  of  bears  in  the 
neighborhood.  You  might  have  the  scene  laid  in  the  woods 
during  the  winter. 

3.  Think  up  a  story  about  a  s-mall  party  of  hunters  out  in 
New  Mexico,  who  go  on  a  trip  and  discover  an  old  trail  leading 
to  a  deserted  gold  mine,  where  they  find  a  treasure.  Bring 
into  the  opening  a  hint  at  the  presence  of  such  trails  and 
mines.  You  might  do  this  by  making  the  men  talk  after  they 
have  gotten  started  and  then  turning  their  dialogue  upon  old 
rumors  and  legends  of  Mexican  days.      Be  careful  to  disguise 


104  FIRST  STKIN  IX   KN(  iLISII  ("( )M  I',  )SrnoX. 

your  purpose  properly  1)}',  for  insluncc,  luiviug  the  leader  rid- 
icule it  all. 

4.  Plan  a  story  about  a  bit  of  difficult  railroad  construction 
through  a  rough,  hilly  region,  in  connection  with  which  dyna- 
mite is  used.  Have  a  dreadful  explosion  occur,  caused  liy  a 
negi'o's  thawing  out  some  of  the  dynamite  before  a  fire.  In 
the  opening,  make  extensive  use  of  the  individualizing  touch 
and  environment.  In  the  dialogue,  have  the  catastrophe 
hinted  at  by  causing  some  one  to  remark,  while  seeing  the 
negro  at  work:  "It's  lucky  the  cartridge-caps  are  kept  locked 
up  in  the  chief  engineer's  cabin ;  that  nigger  would  be  sure  to 
blow  us  to  atoms  if  he  had  a  chance.'' 

IV.     Inferences  that  Reverse  Previous  Expectations. — 1. 

Write  out  the  stor}'  suggested,  page  96,  about  the  little  boy 
who  saved  the  little  girl  fi'om  drowning.  You  might  have  the 
situation  a  school  picnic.  Two  things  you  will  remember  are 
necessary  in  this  sort  of  story,  before  the  climax  is  reached: 
First,  you  must  make  the  boy  out  to  be  rather  stupid,  inactive, 
and  cowardly.  Do  this  as  soon  as  you  have  gotten  started,  by 
means  of  description,  dialogue,  and  inference.  Secondly,  you 
must  insert  a  carefully  disguised  hint  that  he,  in  spite  of  all, 
has  a  warm  spot  in  his  heart  for  the  little  girl.  This  might  l)e 
accomplished  in  the  dialogue.  If  any  other  means  occurs  to 
you,  use  it.      But  be  very  guarded. 

2.  Write  the  story  about  the  explosion,  suggested  above 
(4),  and  employ  this  plan  of  reversed  inferences.  This  might 
be  done  if  your  hero  were  a  young  engineer  just  out  of  school, 
whom  everybody  ridicules  because  of  his  inexperience.  Have 
him  do  some  foolish  things,  and  have  the  men  poke  fun  at 
him.      Do  not   forget  to  let  him  do  something  rather  quick- 


PRINCIPLEi^  UN DERLYING  ART  OF  STORY-TELLING.    lOo 

willed  as  a  pivliminary.  Then,  one  dark  night,  cause  him  to 
see  the  negro  slink  out  from  under  one  of  the  construction  cars 
in  which  the  men  are  all  gathered.  Have  him  investigate  and 
come  upon  a  fuse  attached  to  a  can  of  dynamite  and  sputter- 
ing within  an  inch  of  the  explosive.  Have  him  hurl  it  over 
the  1)ank,  where  it  explodes  terrifically.  Work  this  up  care- 
fully to  the  best  of  your  ability,  and  a  good  story  ought  to  re- 
sult. 

3.  Construct  a  story  on  the  same  plan  about  a  dirty,  dis- 
agreeable little  news-boy  and  his  dog.  Remember  the  two 
preliminaries. 

V.  Stories  in  which  it  is  Necessary  to  Overcome  the 
Reader's  Natural  Incredulity.  -L  Write  a  story  about  a 
hunter  who  saved  his  comrade  from  the  very  jaws  of  a  moun- 
tain lion  by  a  timely  and  incredibly  accurate  shot.  To  do 
this,  merely  have  him  give  an  incidental  exhibition  of  his  re- 
markable marksmanship  early  in  the  tale.  (You  ought  here 
to  make  much  of  the  mental  agony  he  is  under  as  he  shoots 
the  brute). 

2.  Write  a  story  al)out  how  little  Nell  saved  the  passenger 
train  by  running  out  across  a  long,  swaying  trestle  over  a  rag- 
ing river,  in  a  snow-stoi'm  at  night,  with  a  red  lantern.  And, 
to  make  it  credible,  have  her  give  an  unimportant  exhibition 
of  her  sure-footedness  beforehand.  (Be  sure  to  explain  how 
she  came  to  be  alone,  and  in  what  way  the  train  was  in 
danger). 


APPENDIX. 

1.  Selections  supplementing  and  illustrating  the  prin- 
ciples developed  in  the  preceding  chapters. 

2.  Analytic  study,  with  questions. 

3.  Suggestions  and  exercises  for  class  work. 

These  selections  are  to  be  studied  in  connection  with  the 
chapters  and  subdivisions  wliich  they  illustrate.  It  will  be 
noted  that  the  work  here  is,  in  many  cases,  exactly  the  reverse 
of  what  it  was  in  the  preceding  part  of  the  book.  There  it 
was  constrictive;  here  it  is  largely  analytic.  Though  the 
work  is  reversed,  the  same  principles  prevail  in  both  develop- 
ment and  practice. 

The  pupil  should  be  on  the  lookout,  whenever  reading  a  short 
literary  production  or  a  book,  for  further  illustrations  of  these 
literary  devices.  It  will  be  found  profitable  to  examine  the 
most  popular  l)ooks  in  the  school  lil)rary  and  in  the  public 
library,  in  the  light  of  the  principles  and  the  practice  herein 
suggested. 

EXERCISES— CHAPTER  II. 

As  an  instance  of  what  the  IndivlduaJizing  Ddaih  may  be 
made  to  accomplish  in  the  hands  of  a  master,  consider  the  fol- 
lowing.     (The  men  are  convicts  being  brought  to  the  galleys). 

The  men  i)iled  upon  the  drays  allowed  themselves  to  be  jolted  in 
silence,  and  were  livid  with  the  morning  chill.  They  wore  canvas 
trousers,  and  their  naked  feet  were  thrust  into  wooden  shoes.  The 
rest  of  their  attire  was  left  to  the  mercy  of  wretchedness.  Their 
clothing  was  hideously  discordant,  for  nothing  is  more  mournful 
than  the  harlequin  garb  of  rags.     There  were  crushed  hats,  oil-skin 

107 


108  FIRST  STIFFS  IN    i:N(;L1SI1  COMPOSITION. 

bonnets,  friirhll'iil  woolen  niglit-caps,  and,  side  by  side,  the  blouse 
and  tlie  hhuk  coal  out.  at  cUjows.  Some  wore  women's  hat-,  and 
oiliers  used  baskets  I'or  head-covering.  Hairy  chests  were  visible 
tiirough  the  rents  in  the  clothing,  where  tattooed  cnpids,  temples  of 
Venus,  and  l)urning  hearts,  mingled  in  j)rofusion  with  unhealthy  red 
spots. 

Two  or  three  had  passed  a  straw  rope  through  the  si(h'-rail  of  the 
(h-ay,  which  liung  down  like  a  stirrup,  and  supported  their  I'eel. 
One  of  them  held  in  his  hand  something  that  looked  like  a  stone, 
which  he  raised,  from  time  to  time,  to  his  mouth— it  was  bread  he 
was  gnawing.  Their  eyes  were  either  dry  and  dull,  or  luminous 
with  a  wicked  light.  The  escort  cursed,  but  the  chained  men 
breathed  no  syllable.  From  time  to  time  a  blow  resounded,  dealt 
on  heads  or  shoulder-blades  with  a  stick.  Some  of  the  men  yawned; 
their  rags  were  terrible;  their  feet  hung  down;  their  shoulders  oscil- 
lated; their  chains  rattled;  their  eyeballs  flashed  ferociously;  their 
fists  opened  and  shut  like  the  hands  of  death;  their  heads  knocked 
against  each  other;  in  their  rear  a  group  of  little  children  burst  into  a 
laugh. — VicToit   llido,   /v,v  Miserahlf-". 

QUERIKS. 

1.  Wheie  art'  the  e  three  very  homely  items  mentioned  with  strong  effect? 

2.  Where  is  there  a  striivingly  tiideoiis  contrast  given'- 

3.  Wbere  is  tliere  an  inference  from  an  act? 

4.  Find  three  or  four  circumstances  that  sliow  the  inward  hatred  and  malice 
of  the  convicts. 

5.  Which  of  theshorl  clauses  near  the  end  seems  to  you  most  vivid? 

6.  Which  is  the  most  pathetic  touch  of  nil  ? 

The  room  was  not  unlike  a  stable.  The  low  ceiling,  smoke-blacked 
and  dingy,  was  pierced  In-  several  si|uare  trai)-doors  with  rough-hewn 
ladders  leading  up  to  them.  The  walls  of  l)are,  unpainted  planks 
were  studded  here  and  there  with  great  wooden  pins,  placed  at  irreg- 
ular intervals  and  heights,  from  which  hung  over-tunics,  wallets, 
whips,  bridles  and  saddles.  Over  the  fireplace  were  suspended  six  or 
seven  shields  of  wood,  with  coats  of  arnts  rudely  dauljed  upon  thetn, 
which  showed  l)y  their  varying  degrees  of  smokiness  and  dirt  that 
they  had  been  placed  there  at  different  periods.  There  was  no  furni- 
ture, save  a   single   long   dresser   <-overed  with  coarse  crockery,  and  a 


APPENDIX.  109 

number  of  wooden  Itenches  and  trestle.>J,  the  legs  of  which  sank  deeply 
into  the  soft  clay  floor;  while  the  only  Hght,  save  that  of  the  fire,  was 
furnished  by  three  torches  stuck  in  sockets  on  the  wall,  which  flickered 
and  crackled,  giving  forth  a  strong  resinous  odor. —Doyle,  The  White 
Coiiipainj. 

DIRECTIONS   AND    liUESTIONS. 

1.  Make  a  diagram  of  the  room  described  above. 

2.  Find  two  strong,  homely  verbs  that  illustrate  the  suggestion  on  page  31. 

3.  Which  seem  to   you  to  be  the  three  most   individualizing  features  about 
this  room? 

A  dome  of  smoke  like  a  mushroom  hung  over  the  city,  visible  from 
afar  down  the  river,  motionless  in  the  summer  air.  A  long  line  of 
steamboats — white,  patient  animals — was  tethered  along  the  levee, 
and  the  Louisiana  presently  swung  in  her  l)ow  toward  a  gap  in  this 
line,  where  a  mass  of  people  was  awaiting  her  arrival. -Churchill, 
The  Crisis,  Ch.  i. 

The  black  mud  was  thick  under  his  feet  and  already  steaming  in 
the  sun.  The  brick  pavement  was  lumi^y  from  much  travel  and  near 
as  dirty  as  the  street.  Here,  too,  were  drays  blocking  the  way,  and 
sweaty  negro  teamsters  swinging  cowhides  over  nuiles.  The  smell  of 
many  wares  poured  through  the  open  doors,  mingling  with  the  per- 
spiration of  the  porters.  On  every  side  of  him  were  1>usy  clerks,  with 
their  suspenders  much  in  evidence,  and  he  paused  once  or  twice  to 
hsten  to  their  talk.—///.,  Ch.  i. 

Ql'ESTlONS. 

1.  Find  ten  individualizing  details  in  the  last  selection. 

2.  What  specially  iiieturesque  comparisou  in  the  next  to  the  last  extract? 

In  the  combined  army  two  thousand  have  only  bowie-knives  or 
clubs.  Some  have  long  rifles  of  Daniel  Boone's  time,  not  fired  for 
thirty  years.  And  the  impediments  are  a  sight.  Open  wagons  and 
conestogas  and  carrNalls  and  buggies  and  even  barouches,  w'eighted 
down  with  frying-] )ans  and  chairs  and  feather-beds. — Chckchill,  The 
C*risis,  Ch.  ir.,    15k.  m. 

I^IESTION. 

What  is  the  most  striking  of  the  individualizing  touches  in.  the  above? 


110  FIRST  STEPS  IN  ENGLISH  C^OMPOSITION. 

An  elderly  lady  in  black  \va?<  kneeling  beside  a  man  groaning  in 
mortal  agony,  fanning  away  the  flies  already  gathering  about  his  face. 
He  wore  the  uniform  of  a  Union  sergeant— dusty  and  splotched  and 
torn.  A  small  Testament  was  clasped  convulsively  in  the  fingers  of 
his  right  hand.     The  left  sleeve  was  empty.— 76.,  Ch.  in.,  Bk.  ii. 

QUESTIONS. 

1.  WluU  toiicli  makes  us  feel  most  plainly  the  honor  of  this  hospital? 

2.  Quote  live  instances  of  individualizini;  details  frcm  books  or  magazines. 

EXERCISES-CHAPTER  III. 

1.  Motion  Pictures. 

Equipages  of  all  sorts!  are  passing— private  carriage.s  and  public,  and 
corner-.stand  hacks.  The  l)lack  drivers  are  cracking  whips  over  gal- 
loping Horses.  Pedestrians  are  hurrying  bywith  bimdles  under  their 
arms,  some  running  east,  and  some  west,  and  some  stopi)ing  to  dis- 
cuss excitedly  the  chances  of  each  direction.  From  the  river  comes 
the  hoarse  whistle  of  the  boats  breaking  the  Sabbath  stillness  there. 
It  is  a  panic  to  be  remembered. — Chuuchili,,  Tlte  Crim,  Ch.  xxi., 
Book  111. 

Mr.  Hopper  has  boarded  a  Fifth  Street  car,  which  jangles  on  with 
many  halts  until  it  comes  to  Bremen,  a  German  settlement  in  the 
north  of  the  city.  At  Bremen  great  droves  of  mules  fill  the  street 
and  crowd  the  entrances  of  the  stables  there.  Whips  are  cracking 
like  pistol  shots.  Gentlemen  with  the  yellow  cavalry  stripe  of  the 
United  States  Army  are  pushing  to  and  fro  among  the  drivers,  and 
fingering  the  frightened  animals.  A  herd  breaks  from  the  confusion, 
and  is  driven  like  a  whirlwind  down  the  street,  dividing  at  the 
market  house.— //'.,  (-"h.  ii.,  Bk.  iii. 

2.  Environment  Setting  Forth  Character. 

Athos  dwelt  in  the  Rue  F6rou,  within  two  steps  of  the  Luxem- 
bourg; his  apartments  consisted  of  two  small  chambers.  *  *  *  Some 
fragments  of  a  great  i)ast  splendor  appeared  here  and  there  upon  the 
wallsof  this  modest  lodging;  a  sword,  for  example,  richly  damascened, 
which  belonged  by  its  make  to  the  time  of  Francis  I.,  the  hilt  of 
which  alone,  encrusted  with  precious  stones,  might  be  worth  two 
hundred  pistoles,  and  which  nevertheless,  in  his  moments  of  greatest 


APPENDIX.  Ill 

distress,  Athos  had  never  pledged  nor  offered  for  sale.  This  sword 
had  long  been  an  object  of  ambition  for  Porthos.  Porthos  would 
have  given  ten  years  of  his  life  to  possess  it. 

One  day,  when  he  had  an  appointment  with  a  duchess,  he  at- 
tempted even  to  borrow  it  of  Athos.  Athos,  without  saying  anything, 
emptied  his  pockets,  got  together  all  his  jewels,  purses,  and  gold 
chains,-  and  offered  them  to  Porthos;  but  as  to  the  sword,  he  said,  it 
was  sealed  to  its  place  and  should  never  quit  it  until  its  master  should 
himself  quit  his  lodgings. 

In  addition  to  the  sword  there  was  a  portrait  representing  a  noble- 
man of  the  time  of  Henry  III.,  dressed  with  the  greatest  elegance, 
and  who  wore  the  order  of  the  Holy  Ghost;  and  this  portrait  had 
with  Athos  certain  resemblances  *  *  *  which  indicated  that  this  great 
noble,  a  knight  of  the  orders  of  the  king,  was  his  ancestor. 

Besides  these,  a  casket  of  magnificent  goldsmith's  work,  with  the 
same  arms  as  the  sword  and  the  portrait,  formed  a  middle  ornament 
to  the  mantel-jjiece.  *  *  *  Athos  always  carrie<l  the  key  to  this  coffer 
about  him,  but  he  one  day  opened  it  before  Porthos,  and  Porthos  was 
convinced  that  it  contained  nothing  but  letters  and  papers — love  let- 
ters and  family  papers  no  doubt. — Dr.M.^s,  The  Three   Guardsmen,  Ch. 

VII. 

QUESTIONS. 

1.  What  are  ihe  three  remarkable  objects  that  Athos  has  in  his  room? 

2.  Where  did  he  keep  the  sword ? 

3.  How  valuable  do  you  suppose  it  was,  merely  in  money?  What  two  points 
of  description  show  this? 

4.  Find,  from  a  history  or  encyclopedia,  the  length  of  time  Intervening  be- 
tween the  reign  of  Francis  I.  and  Louis  XI\'.  (the  jieriod  of  the  story). 

5.  How  old,  then,  was  the  sword': 

6.  Whom  had  it  belonged  to  before  Athos  gained  possession-of  it? 

7.  \Vhat  do  you  infer  as  to  Athos'  ancestry  and  parentage? 

8.  What  circumstance  shows  (lie  great  value  he  placed  on  it? 

9.  What  did  I'orthos  have  on  hand  the  lime  he  wished  to  borrow  it? 

10.     Why  do  you  suppose  lie  wished  to  borrow   it  on  tliit  pa:ticuUr  occasion, 
he  was  not  going  to  fight  anyone? 

11     What  trait  of  character  does  this  reveal  in  Porthos? 
12.    What  did  Athos  do? 


112  FIRST  STEPS  IN  ENGLISH  COMPOSITION. 

i:{.     What  does  this  sliow  us  as  to  the  feeling  existing  between  the  two  men? 

H.    Find  out  the  time  between  Henry  III.  nnd  Louis  XIV. 

\h.  How  loni;  ilicii  was  Athos'  line  of  ancestry?  (It  sliould  be  remembered 
the  Frenclimeii  l<ii()w  ihe  time  intervenini;  between  tlieir  various  rulers  just  as 
we  know  the  time  bet  a  eoa  our  presedenls). 

16.  To  whom  had  ilic  caslcet  originally  belonged? 

17.  Wliydo  yon  suppose  Atho-j  always  kept  it  locked? 

18.  In  wliat  way  do  you  suppose  Porthos  had  been  bothering,  that  Athos 
should  open  it  before  him? 

19.  Whattrait  of  chanicter  does  this  show  in  Porthos? 

20.  What  did  Porthos  see  in  the  casket  ? 

21.  1)0  you  suppose  he  bothered  Athos  any  more  about  it? 

22.  Why  do  you  suppose  Athos  kept  the  casket  locked,  if  it  contained  only 
old  family  letters? 

23.  What  trait  of  character  does  this  reveal  in  Athos? 

24.  Select  from  books  you  have  read,  three  examples  of  motion  pictures,  and 
three  of  environment  setting  forth  character. 

EXERCISES-CHAPTER  V. 

Descriptions  that  Show  Past  Events. 

Later  on,  down  a  side  street^  he  panics  before  a  house  with  its  face 
blown  away.  On  the  verge  of  one  of  its  jagged  floors  is  an  old  four- 
posted  bed,  and  be.^ide  it  a  child's  cot  is  standing  pitifully,  the  tiny 
pillow  still  at  the  head,  the  little  sheets  thrown  across  the  foot.  So 
nuu-h  for  one  of  the  navy's  shells. — Ciiurchii-l,  The  Crisis,  Ch.  vii., 
Bk.  III. 

QUESTIONS. 

1.  What  had  happened  to  the  house? 

2.  W'hat  was  the  room  that  became  exposed  used  for? 

3.  How  many  individuals  had  used  it? 

4.  Was  the  room  in  use  at  the  time  the  catastrophe  occurred?    How  do  you 


know' 


Was  it  occupieil?    Why  do  you  think  so? 

What  two  things  make  the  whole  especially  iiathetic? 

Quote  three  similar  descriptions  from  l)ooks  yon  have  read. 


APPENDIX.  113 

EXERCISES— CHAPTER  VI. 

The  Dialogue. 

Two  good  illustrative  extracts  have  already  been  given 
(p.  44).      Consider,  however,  the  following:  — 

"Max,"  said  she,  all  at  once,  "why  don't  you  settle  down  to  some- 
thing?   Why  don't  you  work?" 

Young  Mr.  Colfax's  arm  swept  around  in  a  circle. 

"There  are  twelve  hundred  acres  to  look  after  here,  and  a  few  nig- 
gers.    That's  enough  for  a  gentleman." 

"Pooh!"  exclaimed  his  cousin.  "This  isn't  a  cotton  plantation. 
Aunt  Lillian  doesn't  farm  for  money.  If  she  did,  you  would  have  to 
check  your  extravagances  mighty  quick,  sir." 

"I  look  after  Pompey's  reports;  I  do  as  much  work  as  my  ances- 
tors," answered  Clarence,  hotly. 

"Ah,  that  is  the  trouble,"  said  Virginia, 

"What  do  you  mean?"  her  cousin  demanded. 

"We  have  been  gentlemen  too  long,"  said  Virginia. — Churchill, 
The  O'isis,  Ch.  viii.,  Bk.  i. 

QUESTIONS. 

1.  What  do  we  see  from  the  first  speech  that  Max's  habits  have  been? 

2.  How  has  he  felt  about  working? 

3.  What  do  we  see  later  is  his  social  position? 

4.  How  is  Virginia  related  to  him  ? 

5.  What  does  Max  seem  especially  proud  of  being? 

6.  How  do  you  suppose  he  felt  as  he  swept  his  arm  around  in  a  circle? 

7.  How  well  do  you  suppose  he  "looked  after"  the  twelve  hundred  acres? 

8.  What  do  we  find  is  all  the  work  he  really  does? 

9.  How  arduous  do  you  think  this  is? 

10.  What  does  Virginia's  "Poohl"  indicate  about  her  feelings? 

11.  What  excuse  does  he  fall  back  on? 

12.  What  does  the  fact  of  his  seeking  the  excuse  show  that  he  knows  about 
himself  ? 

13.  Why  should  Clarence  (Max)  answer  "hotly"'? 

14.  What  does  Virginia  think  about  being  a  "gentleman''? 

15.  Which  of  these  two  has  the  greater  amount  of  character? 


114  FIRST  STEPS  IX  EN(JL1SII  COMPOSITION. 

16.  Give  three  Instances  of  dialogues, from  books  or  magazines  that  you  have 
read,  and  show  what  they  are  intended  to  bring  out. 

17.  Construct  two  dialogues,  and  in  tliem  show  certain  trails  in  the  persons 
speaking. 

EXERCISES -CHAPTER  VII. 

Descriptions. 

The  Eiivii-onmeut  Sketch  of  the  second  variety  is  in  reality 
a  description  written  to  show  past  events.  See  the  example 
above,  page  112.  Two  other  varieties  have  been  discussed  in 
Chapter  V. 

(a).      Descriptions  written  with  a  special  purpose. 

The  clientH  of  the  "Rue  Touchet"  found  the  a-strologcr's  room 
divided  into  two  by  Hcarlet  hangings,  yn  arranged  as  to  afford  but  a 
partial  view  of  the  further  half,  where  the  sullen  glow  of  a  furnace 
disclosed  alembics  and  crucibles,  mortars  and  retorts,  a  multitude  of 
uncouth  vessels  and  vials,  and  all  the  mysterious  apparatus  of  the 
alchemist.  A  dead  hand  hung  over  each  door,  a  skeleton  peeped 
from  a  closet.  A  stuffed  alligator  sprawled  on  the  floor,  and,  by  the 
wavering,  uncertain  light  of  the  furnace,  seemed  each  moment  to  be 
awaking  into  life.  Cabalistic  signs  and  strange  instruments  and  skull- 
headed  staves  were  everywhere,  with  parchment  scroll-)  and  monstrous 
mandrakes,  and  a  farrago  of  such  things  as  might  impose  on  the  igno- 
rant, who,  if.  he  pleased,  might  sit  on  a  coHin,  and,  when  he  would 
amuse  himself,  might  find  a  living  toad  under  his  feet. 

From  this  room  a  little  staircase,  closed  at  the  top  by  a  strong  door, 
led  to  the  chamher  in  which  the  astrologer  received  his  real  clients. 
Here  all  was  changed.  The  room  was  hung,  canopied,  and  carpeted 
with  blaek  ;  was  vast,  death-like,  empty.  It  contained  two  stools, 
and  in  the  middle  of  the  floor  a  large  crystal  ball  on  a  bronze  stand. 
That  v,-as  all,  except  the  silver  hanging-lamp,  which  burned  blue,  and 
added  to  the  funereal  gloom  of  the  room.  — Wev.m.vn,  The  Man  in 
Black. 

Notice  how  all  the  ordinary  furniture  of  tiie  i-oom,  such  as 
chairs,  tables,  carpets,  pictures,  together  with   doors  and  win 


APPENDIX.  115 

dows,  are  disregarded,  and  how  everything  is   made  to  help  in 
bringing  out  the  special  situation  desired. 

(b.)  In  his  power  to  describe  persons,  Tolstoi  is,  perhaps, 
the  greatest  of  living  writers.  Notice  how  carefully,  and  with 
what  detail,  the  following  bits  of  description  are  constructed, 
and  how  the  uninteresting  and  obvious  are  ignored  throughout. 
Though  in  works  of  fiction,  they  are,  no  doubt,  actual  descrip- 
tions. 

(1.)  In  the  small,  dirty  room  where  the  body  wa'i  taken,  stood  four 
beds.  On  two  of  them  sat  a  couple  of  sick  men  in  dressing-gowns,  one  with 
a  crooked  mouth;  whose  neck  was  bandaged;  the  other  in  consump- 
tion. Two  of  the  beds  were  empty;  the  convict  was  laid  on  one  of 
them.  A  little  man,  with  glistening  eyes  and  continually  moving 
brows,  with  only  his  underclothes  and  stockings  on,  came  up  with 
quick,  soft  steps,  looked  at  the  convict,  and  burst  into  loud  laughter. 
He  was  a  madman,  who  was  being  kept  in  the  police  hospital. 

QUESTIONS. 

1.  Can  you  find  three  individualizing  touches  that  deal  with  the  sick 
men  ? 

2.  Can  you  tind  five  i^oints  from  which  you  may  infer  that  the  man  is 
mad  ? 

(2. )  The  inspector  was  a  little,  fat  fellow,  with  a  red  face,  round  as 
a  ball,  which  he  made  still  broader  by  a  habit  he  had  of  filling  his 
cheeks  with  air,  and  slowly  letting  it  out  again. 

(3.)  By  the  stove,  a  soldier  in  a  coarse  shirt,  with  a  necktie  and 
black  trousers,  and  one  top-boot  on,  stood  blowing  the  charcoal  in  a 
samovar,  using  the  other  boot  as  a  bellows.  In  the  next  room  an  offi- 
cer, with  fair  moustache  and  a  very  red  face,  dressed  in  an  Austrian 
jacket  that  closely  fitted  his  broad  chest  and  muscular  shoulders,  sat  at 
a  covered  table,  on  which  were  the  remains  of  his  dinner  and  two 
bottles. 

QUESTIONS. 

1.  In  Number  2  what  is  the  individual  habit  the  man  had  ? 

2.  In  Numbers,  what  is  the  most  striking  point  aljout  the  soldier's  attire? 


116  FIRST  STEPS  IX  ENGLISH  COMPOSITION. 

3.     .ire  there  any  individualiziiiu;  details  about  the  officer? 
i.    Give  examples  of  or  write  three  de.scriptious  of  places  and  three  of  per- 
sons for  the  special  purpose  of  bringing  out  certain  facts. 

EXERCISES-CHAPTER  VIII. 

The  narrative  is,  in  its  nature,  so  long  tliat  no  examples  can 
l)e  given  here.  Pupils,  however,  may  be  required  to  bring 
from  the  home  or  from  the  library  books  containing  narratives, 
which  may  be  analyzed  in  the  class-room.  Or  classics,  such  as 
Evangeline  or  Miles  Standish,  *  may  be  purchased  in  cheap  form 
for  class-room  use. 

EXERCISES— CHAPTER   IX. 

The  following  exercises  have  been  constructed  from  work 
actually  produced  ])y  pupils  in  the  first  high  school  year. 
They  should  not  be  worked  through  ni  masse  here,  but  should 
be  introduced  one  or  two  at  a  time  along  with  the  composition 
work  itself.  • 

I.  Application  of  Rules  1,  2,  3.  5,  (i,  page  63;  1,  lb,  4, 
page  64;  5,  page  66;  23,  page  68.  /. 

The  frontiersman's  dog. 

Joe  was  a  large  black  shaggy  dog  of  tlie  Newfoundland  kind 
he  liad  been  trained  to  do  many  useful  tricks  by  his  master,  a  ken- 
tucky  frontiersman.  He  could  hold  a  horse  carry  a  bundle  leave 
it  or  bring  it  back  he  would  guard  anything  given  him  in  the  most 
zealous  manner,  and  was  capable  of  many  other  things 

One  Sunday  it  happened  that  he  and  his  master,  mr.  Thompson 
were  captured  by  the  Cherokee  tribe  of  Indians  who  were  out  on  the 
war  path  they  took  him  off  and  at  evening  tied  him  to  a  tree 

Thompson  had  about  given  up  liope  but  about  sundown  a  happy  idea 
struck  him  he  waited  till  dark  when  all  the  savages  were  asleep 
except  a  sentry  a  hundred  feet  off,  he  called  the  dog  to  him  and 
began  to  gnaw  at  the  ropes  as  well  as  he  could.  The  dog  seemed  to 
understand  and  began  a  silent  but  vigorous  attack  on  the  ropea. 


*See  Little  Glasi<ic  Series,  published  by  A.  Flanagan  Co.,  Chicago. 


APPENDIX.  117 

Soon  the  scout  was  free  he  moved  towards  the  H<nitinel  who 
thought  the  victim  was  so  securely  tied  that  there  was  no  need  to 
watcli  closely  and  who  was  amazed  to  tind  the  white  man  loose. 
Thompson  had  no  rope  to  tie  the  savage  with,  he  could  not  kill  him 
in  cold  blood  and  was  about  to  give  up  just  then  Joe  came  up  and 
growled  at  the  foe.  "Here  pup,"  called  Thompson  "watch  him, 
watch  him  when  I  whistle  come."  Joe  growled  a  reply  also  a 
warning  to  the  savage  who  was  too  terrorized  to  move 

Thompson  jumped  up  on  one  of  the  Indian  ponies  standing  near  and 
made  his  way  to  the  nearest  road  tliat  led  to  the  fort.  "When  he  had 
gone  a  quarter  of  a  mile  he  gave  a  short  sharp  whistle  it  was  then  and 
not  before  that  the  frightened  warrior  gave  an  unearthly  yell  it  awak- 
ened the  whole  camp  and  brought  them  in  pursuit  many  a  shot  was 
fired,  but  never  a  one  found  a  softer  resting  place  than  Mother  Earth. 
Then  the  man  and  the  dog  reached  the  fort  in  safety. 

[Beginning  sentences  with  a  capital  and  ending  them  with  a 
period  seem  to  be  the  most  difficult  tasks  for  pupils  to  master. 
Begin  to  read  very  carefully,  '  -Joe  was  a  large,  black,  shaggy 
dog,"  etc.,  and  notice,  by  the  sound,  where  the  sentence  ends. 
Then  put  in  a  period  and  begin  next  the  word  with  a  capital. 
Commence  to  read  again  and  notice  where  the  second  sentence 
ends,  and  so  on] . 

II.  Applications  of  Rules  1,  page  63,  and  1,  page  64. 
Also  change  or  strike  out  words  to  get  rid  of  the  many  repeti- 
tions. 

Close  to  death's  door. 

When  I  was  quite  a  little  boy  I  was  close  to  death's  door  many 
times. 

We  lived  in  an  old  fashioned  house  the  rooms  were  very  large  and 
had  those  old  fashioned  mantels  about  six  feet  high  These  mantels 
were  out  of  my  reach  and  I  had  to  get  on  a  chair  if  anything  of  mine 
was  on  them  one  day  one  of  my  toys  was  propped  upon  one  of  them 
which  I  wanted  to  play  with  T   ran  to  get  a  chair    I  ran  and  got  a 


US  FIRST  STKI'S  IN    ENdl-lSll  COMPOSITION'. 

rockinjT  chair  and  placed  it  before  tlie  mantel  and  jiunped  upon  it 
and  wanted  to  get  what  I  wanted  tlie  chair  began  to  rock  and  I  fell 
into  the  fire  with  a  jerk  I  was  pulled  out  of  the  fire  by  my  big  sister 
and  ^'iven  a  good  sound  thrashing. 

III.  Punctuation.  Insert  the  proper  punctuation  marks 
and  refer  each  to  its  rule. 

Mr.  John  Jones  was  a  rich  old  aristocratic  gentleman  who  lived  in 
a  large  old  English  house.  On  the  first  floor  were  several  halls  a 
kitchen  dining  room  parlor  library  sitting  room  and  one  spare  room 
A  back  stairs  went  up  into  one  of  these  halls  there  was  also  a  stairs 
going  up  alongside  the  library  up  there  were  places  in  the  walls  for 
statues. 

IV.  Application  of  Rules  1,  page  03;  1,  la,  page  64;  5, 
G,    7,   page  05;  18,   page  67;  20,   page  68;  and  14,   page  71. 

One  day  when  Jones  entered  his  library  he  found  his  desk  broken 
open  his  papers  scattered  about  and  many  valuable  documents  in- 
cluding his  will  gone.  This  could  not  be  accounted  for  one  of  the 
old  servants  was  called  in  have  you  done  this  demanded  Jones.  The 
servant  replied  no  sir  I  don't  know  anything  about  it.  Were  you  in 
here  last  night  asked  Jones  again 

•  Several  days  later  Mrs.  Jones  went  into  the  library  only  to 
find  Jones  dead  in  his  chair  with  a  knife  wound  over  his  heart. 
Detectives  were  notified  the  house  was  searched  the  old  servant  w^as 
questioned  but  all  to  no  avail.  Finally  after  months  of  the  most 
careful  search  a  little  plaster  was  found  in  the  hall  in  which  the 
library  stairs  ascended  and  this  led  to  still  more  careful  search. 
One  day  the  girl  asked  mother,  don't  that  picture  on  the  wall  need 
fixing 

QUESTIONS . 

1.  What  is  the  subject  of  the  first  sentence?    Can  you  there  apply  rule  18? 

2.  Can  you  find  another  instance  for  the  same  rule? 

3.  Can  you  apply  rule  13,  pajie  70? 

4.  Can  you  find  the  rules  for  quotations  and  apply  them? 

5.  Can  you  also  apply  rules  9  and  10? 

6.  Can  yon  remodel  a  repetition? 


APIMvXDlX.  119 

V.  Violations  of  Rules.  —  The  following  contains  viola- 
tions of  rules  1,  6,  page  63;  7,  page  64;  5,  6,  page  65;  10. 
11,  12,  page  66;  18,  page  67;  15,  page  71;  47,  page  78.  Tt 
also  contains  a  number  of  bad  repetitions.  Can  you  find  these 
mistakes? 

A  bold  negro  robber. 

As  Mr.  Jacob  Walker  a  suburban  grocer  was  counting  the  money 
in  his  cash  drawer  a  negro  walked  in  the  store  bought  some  steak 
and  handed  the  grocer  a  twenty  dollar  bill.  The  grocer  made  the 
change  and  the  negro  walked  out  of  the  store  eyeing  everything 
carefully.  The  grocer  locked  the  door  after  hiui  and  went  to  put  his 
money  in  the  safe  As  he  put  it  in  however  he  heard  a  voice  with- 
out saying  "see  how  everything  is  arranged  He  of  course  thought 
nothing  of  it  closed  up  the  store  put  out  the  light  and  went  to  bed. 
When  he  got  up  in  the  morning  he  dressed  went  down  in-  the  store 
and  was  greatly  surprised  to  find  that  his  best  goods  was  gone. 

VI.  The  following  sentences,  selected  here  and  there, 
contain  violations  of  rules  1,  4,  page  63;  la,  2,  page  64;  9, 
13,  page  6ii;  18.  page  67;  21,  23,  page  68;  47,  page  78. 

1.  From  the  looks  of  things  on  the  bank,  two  things  must  have 
hapjjened  first  the  boy  must  have  gone  in  swimming  tliere  because 
we  found  his  necktie  and  hat  second  he  could  not  have  come  out 
there  because  why  would  he  have  forgotten  them  there.  And  if  he 
did  not  come  out  what  had  become  of  the  clothes,  and  why  had  not 
the  hat  and  necktie  disappeared  too. 

2.  But  the  scout  had  lots  of  confidence  in  the  lord  and  did  not 
despair. 

3.  Here  we  separated;  I  went  on  up  the  hill  to  the  left  and  Mr. 
Robinson  down  in  the  ravine. 

4.  The  monkeys  which  have  a  great  deal  of  intellect  are  interest- 
ing to  watch  and  study 

5.  There  had  l)een  a  heavy  snow  during  the  night  wliich  made  it 
difficult  to  walk 


IL'O  KlKsr  STKPS  TX  KNGLI8II  COMPOSITION. 

6.  When  the  liuntcf  tliuught  he  wus  near  enough  he  stopjirtl  and 
rested  his  rifle  across  a  rock 

7.  The  cook  looked  in  and  asked  us,  what  we  would  like  for 
dinner 

8.  We  liked  to  wade,  and  always  walked,  where  the  water  was 
deejiest 

\K  The  boys  tents  were  situated  farther  back  toward  the  river 
llian  the  girls 

10.  The  man  who  was  not  prepared  for  the  hluw  fell  flat  un  lis 
back 

VII.  Verb  Forms. — Remember  that  if  (licrc  precedes  the 
predicate,  the  subject  follows  it.  Remember  also  that  if  the 
subject  is  compound,  the  predicate  must  be  plural.  See  rule 
15,  page  71.  This  extract  also  violates  rules  2,  page  69;  20, 
21,  page  73. 

In  one  end  of  the  town,  where  I  was  stopping  one  summer,  stood 
an  old  time  dwelling.  In  this  house  there  was  a  dining-room,  a 
parlor,  three  bed-rooms,  and  a  kitchen  An  independent  farmer 
lived  there.  He  had  two  daughters  and  three  sons.  One  of  these 
sons  seem  to  be  very  wise  while  the  other  seem  to  be  a  bloc^khead. 
One  Sunday  this  farmer  ask  me  to  go  and  dine  with  him.  I  would 
of  liked  to,  but  couldn't  that  day;  and  I  was  very  glad  afterwards  I 
didn't.     That  is  what  I  am  going  to  tell  about. 

VIII.— Determine  whether  sJiaJ I,  will,  shotiJ(l  and  iconld  are 
correctly  used  in  the  following  sentences.  If  they  are  not. 
rectify. 

1.  ^Vhileon  a  visit  to  the  coiintry,  I  met  with  a  peculiar  accident 
which  I  will  never  forget. 

2.  Don't  be  afraid;  you  will  have  all  the  money  you  need  for  the 
outfit. 

3.  "We  shall  not  submit  to  this  nonsense  any  longer;  we  are  tired 
of  it. 

4.  I  remember  standing  and  wondering  whether  I  would  see  any 
of  the  animals  after  all. 


APPENDIX.  121 

5.     He  was  afraid  he  would  miss  his  train. 

(i.     I  am  disgusted  with    his  extravagance;  he  shall  not  have  an- 
other dollar. 

7.  The  guide  answered  that  if  we  would  only  be  patient  a  little 
longer  we  would  soon  be  out  of  the  dangerous  valley. 

8.  How  we  sliall  manage  without  any  light  is  the  question. 

9.  If  anytiiing  like  that  happened  to  me,  I  would  he  dreadfully 
ashamed. 

10.  Under  n(j  circumstances  whatever  will  I  do  it. 

11.  I  would  like  a  little  more  gravy  if  you  please. 

12.  I  know  this  road   is  rough,  but   we   will   no  doubt  get  to  the 
end  of  it  before  long. 

13.  I  shall  not  let  him  have  my  book,  said  Arthur  angrily. 

14.  That  James  Harris  shall  not  be  permitted  to  play  with  my 
brother  any  more. 

15.  "Thou  Shalt  not  steal." 

16.  Jennie  and  INIadge  Robinson  will  visit  us   for  the  holidays, 
and  then  next  summer  we  will  visit  them  on  the  farm  in  return. 

IX. — Determine  whether  .<?*>,  set;  lie,  lay;  rise,  raise  are   cor- 
rectly used  iu  the  following.      If  thej'  are  not,  rectify. 

1.  Sit  tlie  bread  sponge  by  the  fire  and  let  it  raise. 

2.  They  laid  down  on  the  grass. 

3.  The  house  sets  on  top  of  a  hill. 

4.  A  house  set  on  a  hill  cannot  be  hid. 

5.  The  robber  raised  up  and  looked  over  the  wall. 

6.  They  lay  in  hiding  behind  the  hedge  for  three  hours. 

7.  A  hat,  a  necktie,  and  an  old  coat  were  laying  on  the  floor. 

8.  A  cliair  had  been  set  out    for  the  speaker,  and,  when  he   ar- 
rived, he  sat  down  and  waited. 

9.  When  1  was  a  boy  I   laid  awake   many  nights  with  sleepless- 
ness. 

10.  It  was  an   old,  brown    book  which  had  lain  in  grandmother's 
tnmk  since  she  was  a  girl. 

1 1 .  Set  down  awhile  and  let  us  talk. 

12.  The  men  were  attacked  as  they  were  in  the  act  of  laying  out 
their  cami). 


122  FIRST  STl^l'S  TX    KX<;rJSIT  CO^fPf  )SITinX. 

^'^.     Tlie  ferry  boat  lays  to  at  the  loot  of  Fulton  ytreet. 
II.     Tlie  coat  does  not  set  well  about  the  Hhouklers. 
15.     "I  have  often   lain  on  n)y   back   in   the  grass  of  sununer  even- 
ings and  watched  the  stars  and  the  moon  rise  in  the  hlue  above  me." 

X. — Determine  wheUier  mfii/  and  ca//,  miy/it  :iud  cmh/  are 
used  correctly  in  the  following;  if  they  are  not,   rectify. 

1.  Can  I  see  your  book? 

2.  When  my  little  brother  was  sick  he  would  not  let  me  come 
near  him,  so  that  I  could  not  do  anything  for  him. 

3.  That  night  it  froze,  and  I  w'shed  very  nuich  to  go  skating  the 
next  day;  but  it  was  Sunday  and  I  might  not. 

4.  The  prisoner  was  seen  skulking  al)out  the  neighborhood  the 
night  that  the  murder  was  committed,  therefore  it  could  easily  have 
been  he  who  did  it. 

5.  He  said,  however,  that  he  could  prove  he  had  been  out  of 
town  that  day  and  night;  hence  it  could  not  have  been  he. 

().  It  cannot  be  said  of  us  that  we  are  barbarous;  we  are  as  up- 
right as  any  in  the  land. 

7.  It  cannot  be  truthfully  said  that  there  is  one  kind  of  justice 
for  the  poor  and  another  for  the  rich  in  America. 

XI. — With  the  help  of  a  dictionary  and  of  rules  1,  page 
69,  and  24,  page  14,  reduce  the  following  to  plain  English: — 

The  magnificent  residence  of  our  esteemed  fellow  townsman,  John 
Smith,  became  a  prey  to  the  fiery  element  last  night.  A  great  con- 
course of  people  witnes.sed  the  conflagration.  It  was  suspicioned 
that  several  of  the  owner's  servants  perished  in  the  flames.  The 
holoacust  was  not  without  its  accompaniment  of  exterior  accidents. 
A  fragment  of  wall  was  precipitated  upon  a  pedestrian  in  the  thor- 
oughfare below.  The  regard  which  Mr.  Smith  enjoys  throughout 
the  INIetropolis  was  evidenced  Ijy  the  multitudinous  messages  of  con- 
dolence of  which  he  was  the  recipient.  It  is  suspicioned  that  the 
calamity  was  of  incendiary  origin.  How  the  matter  will  eventuate 
can  not  be  prognosticated. 


APPENDIX.  128 

XII,  — Case  of  Pronouns:  ~  Rules29— 34.  page  74. 

THE  WATERMELONS. 

One  night  three  other  boys  and  me  were  going  by  a  farm  where 
there  was  a  field  of  watermelons.  "Let  us  have  one,"  said  one  of 
the  boys.  But,  though  I  liked  melon.s  as  well  as  them,  I  did  not 
think  us  boys  ought  to  stop  and  bother;  so  I  urged  them  to  go  on. 

We  walked  on  about  a  hundred  yards  when  we  heard  a  noise  up 
near  the  farmer's  house.  The  back  door  opened  and  some  one  came 
tramping  and  swearing  down  the  road.  We  thought  it  was  the 
farmer  and,  when  he  got  uj),  we  found  it  was  him  sure  enough.  He 
had  heard  a  nr)ise  in  his  melon  patch  and  had  rushed  out  to  see  who 
he  could  catch. 

He  grabbed  me  by  the  collar  while  the  other  fellows  ran.  Then  he 
swore  it  was  them  who  he  was  looking  for  and  began  shaking  me.  I 
tried  to  tell  him  we  were  innocent  and  didn't  know  anything  about 
his  melons.  "You  thmk  you  know  more  than  me?"  he  shouted; 
"I'll  show  3'ou." 

He  began  dragging  me  towards  the  house;  but  just  then  the  other 
fellows,  whom  I  thought  had  gone  for  good,  came  up  again.  They 
had  got  clubs  down  the  road  and  now  made  an  attack  on  the  farmer 
so  that  he  let  me  loose. 

I  am  glad  it  was  not  us  who  he  could  bring  charges  against;  and  it 
might  easily  have  been  us  too. 

XIII. — The  following  sentences  have  been  selected  from  the 
work  found  in  high  school  publications  and  essays.  They  in- 
volve faults  covered  by  rules  3,  13,  page  69;  19,  page  73;  36, 
4G.  page  76.      A  few  faults  already  considered  are  also  present. 

1.  The  game  last   Satuixlay  was   continually  delayed  by  disputes 
between  the  men. 

2.  Everybody  who   had   not  presented  their  credentials  were  at 
once  disbarred  from  taking  part  in  the  ratification. 

I).     The  last  of  these  two  sentences  was  the  only  correct  one. 
4.     Bills  payed  on  either  of  the  above  three  days  will  be  granted  a 
discount  of  ten  per  cent. 


124  FIRST  STEPS  IX  ENGLISH  COMPOSITION. 

5.  The  two  following  dayy  it  snowed  heavily  s^o  that  the  trains 
were  delayed  and  nobody  from  out  of  town  could  get  liome  to  their 
folks  for  Chrif-tnias. 

6.  There  nuist  have  been  treachery  of  some  sort  at  work  for 
when  the  first  half  was  most  over  the  quarter-back  threw  down  his 
helmet  and  refused  to  go  ahead.  Lucky  we  had  a  good  substitute 
who  we  pnt  in;  and  won  after  all. 

7.  Neither  our  coach  nor  the  visitors  doubted  but  that  they  had 
a  perfect  right  to  advise  their  teams.  But  the  spectators  would  not 
have  them  on  the  field.  So  after  some  bickering  they  agreed  to  stay 
on  the  side-lines  for  the  balance  of  the  game. 

8.  A  good  deal  of  scandal  was  caused  at  the  depot  when  the  vis- 
itors' train  pulled  out  by  a  chorus  of  hoots  and  cat-calls  and  insulting 
remarks.  Such  practices  are  a  disgrace  to  our  school  and  should  in 
the  future  be  done  away  ■with. 

9.  Everyone  provided  themselves  with  watch  dogs  and  had  bur- 
glar alarms  put  on  their  window's  and  doors. 

10.  Among  other  matters  Mr.  Davis  urged  the  team  to  try  and 
come  out  more  regularly  for  practice,  claiming  that  if  they  did  not, 
we  would  stand  but  little  chance  of  winning  the  coming  game. 
Surely  it  had  not  ought  to  be  necessary  to  urge  such  a  matter  as 
this;  if  we  calculate  to  win  this  game  without  hard  work  we  will  be 
doomed  to  disappointment. 

11.  Hunter  allowed  that  his  team  outweighed  us  but  did  not 
think  that  alone  explained  their  victory. 

XIV.     Application  of   Rules  48—55.     One  or  two  of  the 

faults  already  considered  are  also  present. 

1.  Three  students  from  the  Valley  High  School  were  only  ad- 
mitted to  two  of  the  Freshman  subjects;  they  will  have  to  bring  up 
their  English  work  outside  their  regular  hours. 

2.  Our  school's  success  in  the  debates  is  very  gratifying  to  all 
concerned. 

3.  The  man  and  woman  were  last  seen  together  in  the  street-car 
going  out  to  Havelock. 

4.  I  expect  my  wife  and  daughter  back  next  week. 


APPENDIX.  125 

5.  Rushing  into  the  room  a  man  was  found  sprawling  on  the 
floor  entangled  in  a  long  rope  [Rule  52]. 

6.  One  morning  some  silver  was  missing  and  yet  we  had  locked 
the  doors  and  windows  to  the  dining  room  the  night  before  [Rule  55]. 

7.  I  looked  down  the  chimney  but  nothing  could  be  seen  [Rule 
55]. 

8.  The  spy  made  a  slip-knot  around  a  stone  on  top  of  the  wall 
and  slid  down;  but  then  he  was  no  better  off  because  he  could  not 
pull  it  down  after  him  [Rule  54]. 

9.  In  trying  to  walk  too  close  to  the  barb-wire  fence  his  coat  got 
caught  on  one  of  the  barbs.  A  small  piece  was  torn  off  and  this 
finally  led  to  his  arrest  [Rule  52]. 

10.  The  neighbors  were  all  aroused  by  the  noise  of  the  fire-engine 
and  they  cheerfully  spent  much  labor  helping  to  save  Mrs.  Irvine's 
household  goods  [Rule  55]. 

11.  Knowing  he  had  been  on  the  roof  he  wondered  where  he  had 
gone. 

12.  He  did  not  have  to  wait  long  for  soon  a  man  was  seen  climb- 
ing a  tree  near  the  house. 

13.  But  the  professor  did  not  use  any  hat-string  so  that  when  the 
next  puff  of  wind  came  it  was  blown  overboard  and  he  was  forced  to 
go  bare-headed  for  the  remainder  of  the  trip  [Rule  54]. 

14.  The  speaker  only  touched  upon  one  question. 

15.  The  negro  will  always  be  badly  treated  in  communities  where 
they  attempt  to  exercise  political  piiwer  over  the  whites. 

EXERCISES— CHAPTER  X. 

I.     Devices  Used  in  Story  Writing. 

Following  are  a  few  newspaper  items  that  will  show  how 
good  subiects  for  stories  may  be  found  daily  in  the  public 
prints. 

A  HOUSE  CAT  ivILLED 

FOR  A  BURGLAR. 

Mr.  .Toliu  Birk,  of    1034   East  St.  Cath- 
erine str  et,  was  aroused  earlv  this  morn- 


126  FIRST  STKl'S  IN   KMILlSlI  COMPOSITION. 

in<;  T)y  a  suspiciouH  ivntiv  in  hin  kitchen. 
He  lired  and  killed  the  liovisc  cat. 
This  is  a  ijood  hasis  for  a  humorous  story. 


in^Luis  OF  A  FoirruxR  fro.m 

LONG  SILKXT  JiKOTUFll. 


Newark    Boy     Went     West;      Didn't 

Write    to  Sister    for  18    Vear.s; 

Now  Dies  Rich. 


Newark,  N.  J.,  Dec.  7.— Patriek  Man- 
ning, who  left  Newark  nearly  a  score  of 
yearn  ago  to  .seek  hi.s  fortune  in  the  West, 
died  at  Kalispel,  Mont.,  a  few  dayn  ago, 
and  word  of  hi.s  death  haw  just  reached 
Newark  through  iiniuiries  being  made 
for  his  heirs.  JManning  died  pos^e.^sed 
of  a  fortune. 

Mis.s  Theresa  IManning,  of  Newark,  a 
sister  of  the  deceased,  had  not  heard 
from  him  in  eighteen  years  and  knew 
nothing  of  his  wealth. 

This  suggests  to  me  a  story  of  destitution  at  home,  re- 
lieved in  the  nick  of  time  by  the  news  of  the  long  lost  brother, 
who  was  supposed  to  be  dead. 


SWAMP  MONSTER 
DEAD  AT  LAST 


Brave  Hunter  Puts  an  End  to 
Strange  Terror  in  Florida. 

LIKE  A  SEA  SERPENT 

Indians    Say    the  Snake   Has    Lived 

Over     100    Years    Near    Lake 

Okeechobee. 


APPENDIX.  127 

This  suggests  a,  story  of  a  fearless  hunter  who  hears  these 
strange  rumors  and  sallies  foi'th  into  the  swamps.  Many  be- 
fore him  had  tried  to  kill  the  monster  and  had  lost  their  lives. 
Here  would  be  much  room  for  mystery  and  adventure. 


"WE  BURIED  A  POTE 

OF  GOOLD  IN  1618. 


Parchment  Found  Among  Old  Fam- 
ily   Papers  Gives    Location    of 
Hidden  Treasure. 

Here  the  story  would  begin  with  the  accidental  discovery  of 
the  parchment.  Let  it  be  very  old  and  partly  illegible.  Let 
much  ingenuity  be  expended  upon  deciphering  it.  Let  it  con- 
tain a  strange  map.  Then  let  preliminary  explorations  be 
made  in  secret  by  the  finder.  Have  him  organize  an  expedi- 
tion. Let  one  of  the  men  turn  traitor  and  organize  a  rival 
company.  Here,  eertainl}',  would  l)e  room  for  a  multitude  of 
conspiracies  and  adventures. 


SHE  LOCKS  IN  THIEVES 


Mrs.    Kartanki    Keeps    Them    Until 
the  Police  Arrive. 


BOY  HERO 


Discovers  a   Broken  Rail  and  Gives 

Warning  That  Saves  a  Train. 
Special  to  The  Times. 

Decatur,  Ala.,  Dec.  11. — Walke  Simp- 
son, aged  twelve,  di.scovered  a  broken 
rail  on  the  Louisville  and  Nashville  rail- 
road, near  Harts^elle,  and  reported  it  in 
time  to  prevent  a  serious  wreck,  and  he 
is  the  hero  of  the  day. 


128  FIRST  STEPS  IN  ENGLISH  C'O.MPOSITION. 

THIEF'S  AVENUE 

IS  A  CHIMNEY 

Mystery     of     Repeated     Robberies 
Solved  by  Rope  Breaking. 


Chicago,  Dec.  10.  — [Special].— A  thir- 
teen-year-old girl  led  oOU  children  from  a 
burning  school  by  playing  a  two-step  on 
the  piano. 

II.  Premonitory  Allusions. 

Note  how  the  following  paragraphs  give  mysterious  hints  at 
events  to  come. 

Well  would  it  have  been  for  her,  and  for  another,  too,  if  she  could 
have  said  "Yes;"  and  taken  him.  #  *  *  *  Well,  indeed,  it  would 
have  been  for  her  if  she  could  have  taken  this  brave  fellow,  but  she 
could  not.— Bes.vnt,  The  World  Went  Very  Well  Then,  Ch.  ix. 

Where  there  is  great  love  there  is  also  the  possibility  of  great  wrath 
and  great  revenge,  as  you  will  presently  discover. — Ih.,  Ch.  iv. 

"Don't  pray  for  that,"  he  said,  in  a  quick,  low  voice.  "It  may 
come  too  soon  for  some  of  us,  God  knows— too  soon  for  many  a  good 
man  and  true!"— Steele,  On  the  Face  of  the  Waters. 

"Are  you  asleep,  or  will  you  listen,  and  I  will  tell  a  dale  dot  you 
shall  not  pelief?" 

"There's  no  tale  in  the  wide  world  that  I  can't  believe,"  I  said. 

"If  you  haf  learned  pelief,  you  haf  learned  somedings.  Now  I  shall 
try  your  pelief.     Good!"— Kii-ling,  Bimi. 

III.  Atmosphere. 

Notice  how  a  master  constructs  a  description  so  as  to  pro- 
duce a  state  of  feeling  in  his  reader:  — 

The  room  was  darkened  till  it  was  only  just  possible  to  distin- 
guish the  pips  of  the  cards  and  the  very  white  faces  of  the  players, 


APPENDIX.  12!) 

A  tattered,  rotten  punkah*  of  whitewashed  calico  was  paddHng  the 
hot  air  and  whining  dolefully  at  each  stroke.  Outside  there  was 
neither  sun,  sky  nor  horizon— nothing  but  a  brown-purple  haze  of 
heat.  It  was  as  thougli  the  earth  were  dying  of  apoplexy.  From 
time  to  time,  clouds  of  tawny  dust  rose  from  the  ground  without 
wind  or  warning,  flung  themselves  table-cloth- wise  among  the  tops 
of  the  parched  trees,  and  came  down  again.  Then  a  whirling  dust- 
devil  would  scutter  across  the  plain  for  a  couple  of  miles,  break  and 
fall  outward,  though  there  was  nothing  to  check  its  flight  save  a  long, 
low  line  of  piled  railway  sleepers,  white  with  the  dust,  a  cluster  of 
huts  made  of  mud,  condemned  rails  and  canvas,  and  the  one  squat, 
four-roomed  bungalow  that  belonged  to  the  assistant  engineer  in 
charge  of  the  section  of  the  Gandhari  State  Line  then  under  con- 
struction."—Kipling,  At  the  End  of  the  Passage. 

The  following  extract  has  the  purpose  of  producing  in  us  a 
feeling  of  the  uncanny.  It  is  not  a  premonitory  allusion,  be- 
cause nothing  of  what  is  indicated  comes  to  pass. 

It  is  a  strange  feeling  that  comes  and  stays  about  the  roots  of  the 
neck,  when  one  first  realizes  that  the  headsman-  may  have  to  do 
therewith  ere  many  weeks  pass  by.  And  it  is  a  feeling  that  I  have 
taken  to  bed  with  me  for  years  at  a  time.  ^  *  .;.  It  was  judged  best 
that  my  cousin  and  I  should  ride  alone.  This  we  wished  because  we 
knew  not  whom  to  trust  in  the  strange  case  in  which  we  found  our- 
selves.— Ckockett,  The  Man  of  the  Moss  Hags,  xvii. 

What  feeling  is  produced  in  each  case  by  the  following 
touches? 

1.  A  twisted  and  aged  apple  tree,  standing  all  alone  on  the  stony 
slope  of  a  hill. 

2.  A  white-painted  cottage  nestling  among  trees. 

3.  The  slow,  soggy  plash!  plash!  of  hoofs  in  the  muddy  road. 

4.  A  snow-capped  mountain-top  gleaming  in  the  sun-rise. 

5.  A  gray  plain  stretching  on  unbroken  forever. 


*A  sort  of  huge  fan  that  swung  on  hinges  from  the  ceiling  and  was  pulled  by 
a  rope  to  produce  a  breeze. 


130  FIRST  STEPS  IN    ENGLISH  COMPOSITION. 

IV.     Inferences. 

1.  Tlie  flagon  the  school  house  stands  straight  out  from   the  pole 
in  a  southerly  direction.     What  two  caupea  are  inferred? 

2.  The  steam  fire-engine  is  seen  to  liass  leisurely.     What  cause  i.s 
inferred  ? 

.S.     Crum]).s  are  found  scattered  over  the  floor  of  a  certain  school- 
room.    What  inference  ? 

4.  Coaches  and  omnibuses  are  seen  coming  from  the  station.     In- 
ference ? 

5.  A  groat  flock  of  doves  and  other  birds  is  seen  settling  upon  a 
certain  spot  of  ground.     Inference? 

6.  Shouts  and    songs   in    foot-ball  season.      What     inference  is 
made  ? 

7.  Clapping  of  hands  and  stamping  of  feet  are  heard   in  a  certain 
room.     Inference? 

8.  Prolonged,  hearty  laughter  is  heard  in  a  crowd.     Inference  ? 

9.  Through  which  of  the  five  senses  is  each  of  these  inferences 
made  ? 

IQ.     Suggest  an  inference  that  is  made  through  any  of  the  other 
senses. 

11.  A  student  comes  home  and  rams  his  examination  paper  into 
the  stove.     Inference  ? 

12.  A  brakeman  is  seen  on  the  railroad-track  with  a  red  flag  in  his 
hand.     What  two  inferences  ? 

13.  A  small  boy  is  peering  into  a  crack  in   the  sidewalk.     Infer- 
ence ? 

14.  A  student  hal)itually  and  ostentatiously  carries  about  an  arm- 
ful of  huge  library  books.     Inference  ? 

15.  A  crowd  of  men  laughs  at  a  refined  woman  who  has  fallen  in 
the  street.     What  is  instantly  inferred  as  to  their  breeding? 

16.  You  are  making  a  visit  and  observe  dirt  in  the  corners  of  the 
.sitting-room.     What  inference  is  at  once  made  ? 

17.  Which  of   the  above  are  inferences  of  character?     Which,  of 
incident  ? 

18.  Make  a  list  of  live  circumstani'cs  in  real  life  from  which  you 
find  that  your  mind  infers  character. 


APPENDIX.  131 

19.  Make  a  similar  list  of  circumstances  from  which  you  infer 
some  mcident. 

20.  Make  a  list  of  five  circumstances  from  which  you  infer  char- 
acter through  some  one  of  the  senses  other  than  sight. 

The  following  selections  from  The  Crisis  will  show  the  work- 
ing of  this  principle  in  literature.  Think  out  answers  to  the 
questions  appended: — 

1.  The  oily  auctioneer  was  inviting  the  jteople  to  pinch  the  wares, 
(negro  girls  on  sale).  Men  came  forward  to  feel  the  creatures  and  look 
into  their  mouths,  and  one  brute,  unshaven  and  with  filthy  linen, 
snatched  a  child  from  its  mother's  lap. — Ch.  iv.,  Bk.  i. 

QUESTIONS. 

1.  What  point  of  character  is  inferred  from  the  fact  that  these  girls  are  called 
"wares"? 

2.  What  two  acts  next  mentioned  cause  us  to  infer  character — and  what  char- 
acter ? 

3.  Which  is  the  most  powerful  inference  made  here,  where  is  it  made,  and 
w)iat  is  it  that  we  infer  ? 

2.  When  I  was  a  boy  I  worked  my  way  down  the  river  to  New  York, 
to  see  the  city.  I  met  a  bishop  there.  He  said  to  me,  "Sit  down, 
my  son,  I  want  to  talk  to  you.  I  know  your  father  in  Albany.  You 
are  Senator  Whipple's  son."  I  said  to  him,  "No,  sir,  I  am  not  Sena- 
tor Whipple's  son.  I  am  no  relation  of  his."  If  the  bishop  had 
wished  to  talk  to  me  after  that,  he  might  have  made  my  life  a  little 
easier — a  little  sweeter. — Ch.  xi.,  Bk.  ii. 

QUESTIONS. 

1.  What  mistake  did  the  bishop  make? 

2.  How  did  the  boy  get  to  the  city? 

3.  What  were  his  worldly  circumstances? 

4.  In  what  way  was  he  different,  then,  from  Senator  Whipple's  son? 

5.  What  did  the  bishop  do  after  he  found  out  his  mistake? 

6.  What  effect  did  this  action  have  on  the  boy? 

7.  Why  do  you  suppose  the  bishop  was  so  anxious  to  cultivate  the  acquaint- 
ance of  Senator  ^\■hipple■s  son,  as  ho  supposed? 


132  FIRST  STHl'S  IN  ENCil.ISH  COMPOSITION. 

K     Wbat  trait  of  character  does  the  boy's  stiaightlorward  answer  reveal? 
9-    What  do  you  think  of  the  bishop? 

ij.  As  the  gray  uniforma  file  out  of  the  gate,  the  crowd  has  become  a 
mob,  now  flowing  back  into  the  lields  on  each  side  of  the  road,  now 
pressing  forward  vindictively  until  stopped  by  the  sergeants  and  cor- 
porals. Listen  to  them  calling  to  sons,  and  brothers,  and  husbands  in 
gray!  See,  there  is  a  woman  who  spits  in  a  soldier' 5  face! — Ch.  xix., 
Bk."  II. 

QUESTION. 

Here  there  is  really  only  one  inference;  bnt  it  is  a  very  powerful  one.  Where 
is  it,  and  what  is  it  we  inl'er? 

4.  Carl  Richter  took  up  the  challenge.  Before  night  all  Berlin  had 
heard  of  the  temerity  of  the  young  Liberal.  To  our  shame,  be  it  said, 
we  who  knew  and  loved  Carl  likewise  feared  for  him.  Carl  chose  for 
his  second  Ebhardt,  a  man  of  our  own  Germania  Club.  And,  if  you 
will  believe  me,  1  tell  you  that  Carl  came  to  the  glade  at  daybreak 
smoking  his  pipe. — Ch.  x,  Bk.  11. 

QUESTION. 

Here  there  is  likewise  only  one  inference;  but  it  is  very  powerful.     Where  is 
it?    Is  it  character  or  incident? 

5.  The  side  door  of  the  house  opened;  a  weeping  Avoman  came  out; 
and  with  her  was  a  tall  Confederate  Colonel  of  cavalry.  Gallantly 
gi\ang  her  his  arm,  he  escorted  her  as  far  as  the  little  gate,  where  she 
l)ade  him  good-bye  with  much  feeling.  AMth  an  impulsive  movement 
he  drew  some  money  from  his  pocket,  thrust  it  upon  her,  and  started 
hurriedly  away  that  he  might  not  Hsten  to  her  thanks.  Such  was  his 
preoccupation  that  he  actually  brushed  into  Stephen,  who  was  stand- 
ing beside  a  tree. — Ch.  VIII.,  Bk.  III. 

QUESTIONS. 

1.  Where  is  the  lirst  act  from  which  we  infer  the  presence  of  a  sympathetic 
trait  in  the  Colonel's  character'/ 

2.  What  was  her  attitude  of  mind  towards  him? 

3.  What  did  the  Colonel  do  at  the  gate? 

4.  How  did  he  do  it— slowly,  deliberately? 

5.  Why  did  he  not  stay  to  hear  the  -.voman's  thanks? 


APPENDIX.  133 

6.  How  do  you  like  the  Colonel? 

7.  What  do  you  infer  as  to  her  character  from  the  fact  that  he  "thrust"  the 
money  upon  her? 

8.  What  happened  to  the  Colonel  as  he  hurried  on? 

9.  Why  did  he  not  see  Stephen— because  the  latter  was  behind  the  tree' 

Eliphalet  Hopper  is  a  young  man  who  begins  life  as  office 
boy  in  a  cliy-goods  store.  Now  he  has  become  manager.  He 
is  stingy,  unscrupulous,  and  selfish.  Notice  how  these  char- 
acteristics are  inferred  from  the  following:  — 

6.  As  for  INIr.  Hopper,  increase  in  salary  had  not  changed  him.  He 
still  lived  in  the  same  hmnble  wa}-,  in  a  single  room  in  the  Widow 
Crane's  boarding-house;  and  he  paid  very  little  more  for  his  board 
than  he  had  that  first  week  in  which  he  swept  out  Colonel  Carvel's 
store.  At  night,  when  he  came  home  from  business,  he  would  read 
the  widow's  evening  paper,  and  the  Colonel's  morning  paper  at  the 
office.  His  only  indulgence  was  chewing-tobacco.  It  was  as  early  as 
1859  that  the  teller  of  the  Boatman's  Bank  began  to  point  out  Mr. 
Hopper's  back  to  casual  customers,  and  he  was  more  than  once  seen 
to  enter  the  president's  room. 

Eliphalet' s  suavity  with  certain  delinquent  customers  from  the 
Southwest  was  according  to  Scripture.  When  they  invited  him  into 
the  street,  he  reminded  them  that  the  city  had  a  i^olice  force  and  a 
jail.  He  knew  the  laws  concerning  mortgages  in  several  different 
States. 

But  Eliphalet  was  content  still  to  remain  in  the  sphere  in  which 
Providence  had  placed  him  .  .  .  He  did  not  buy,  or  even  hire,  an 
evening  suit.  He  was  pleased  to  superintend  some  of  the  details  for  a 
dance  at  Christmas-time  before  Virginia  left  Monticello,  but  he  sat  as 
usual  on  the  stair- landing.  There  j\Ir.  Jacob  Cluyme  ( who  had  been 
that  day  in  conversation  with  the  teller  of  the  Boatman's  Bank) 
chanced  upon  him.  Mr.  Cluyme  was  so  charmed  at  the  facility  with 
which  Eliphalet  recounted  the  rise  and  fall  of  sugar  and  cotton  and 
wheat  that  he  invited  Mr.  Hopper  to  dinner  ....  Eliphalet 
sat  next  to  Miss  Belle,  and  heard  the  private  history  of  many  old 
families,  which  he  cherished  for  future  u.-^e. — Ch.  viii.,  Bk.  xi. 


l;U  FIKST  STEPS  IX   KNliLlSll   CU.MI'OSITION. 

QUESTIONS. 

1.  Where  had  Mr.  Hopper  put  up  when  he  began  his  work  as  olHce-boy':' 

■J.  Where  is  he  living,  now  that  he  is  manager? 

3.  Why  has  be  not  moved  into  more  luxurious  quarters? 

•1.  Whose  newspapers  did  he  read  regularly? 

.").  Why  did  he  not  subscribe  for  them  himself? 

6.  How  much  did  he  spend  on  lu.xuries' 

7.  What  had  the  banlv  teller  begun  to  do,  and  why? 

8.  How  has  Mr.  Hopper  come  to  have  business  in  the  president's  room? 

9.  What  sort  of  scenes  does  he  seem  to  have  had  with  customers  who  could 
not  pay  up? 

10.  How  did  these  interviews  affect  them? 

1 1 .  Was  he  relent  ing  and  easy  ? 

12.  Why  should  he  have  studi(>(i  mortgage  laws,  since  his  business  was  the 
dry-goods  trade? 

13.  Did  he  go  into  society  very  muelir    Why  ? 

14.  What  position  did  he  fill  at  the  few  parties  which  he  did  attend? 

15.  Why  should  this  not  have  wounded  his  self-respect  terribly? 

16.  What  do  you  suppose  the  bank  teller  had  been  saying  to  Jacob  Cluyme? 

17.  How  did  this  gentleman  show  his  interest  in  Mr.  Hopper? 

18.  What  was  it  about  Mr.  Hopper  that  he  was  interested  in? 
10.    Wliat  sortof  man  do  you  think  Cluyme  was? 

20.  What  sort  of  conversation  prevailed  at  Mr.  Cluyme's  table? 

21.  What  trait  of  character  does  this  show? 

22.  What  did  Mr.  Hopper  cherish  this  information  for? 

23.  How  do  you  like  Mr.  Hopper? 

7.     "It  won't  do,  Abe,"  said  he.     "You  commit  suicide." 

"You'd  better  stick  to  the  pear,  Abe,"  said  Mr.  Medill,  "and  fight 
Stei)hen  A.  Douglas  here  and  now.  This  isn't  any  picnic.  Do  you 
Ik  now  who  he  is?" 

"Why,  yes,  Joe,"  said  Mr.  Lincoln,  amiably.  "He  is  a  man  with 
tens  of  thousands  of  blind  followers.  It's  my  duty  to  make  some  of 
these  blind  followers  .s^e."     .... 

Mr.  Lincoln  surprised  him  (Stephen  Brice)  still  further  in  taking 
him  by  the  arm.     Turning  to  the  young  reporter  he  said: 

"Bob,  a  little  air  will  do  you  good.  I've  had  enough  of  the  old 
boys,  and  I'm  going  to  talk  to  somebody  my  own  age." 


APPENDIX.  135 

Stejiheu  was  half-way  down  the  corridor  when  he  discovered  that 
he  liad  forgotten  liis  hat. — C'lU'itcJiiLi,,  Tlw  Crisis,  Ch.,  in.,  Bk.  ii. 

(QUESTIONS. 

1.  Here,  beyond  some  minor  inferences  drawn  from  tlie  dialogue,  there  is  but 
one  point  worthy  of  notice.  But  the  inference  which  this  causes  us  to  make  is 
very  powerful.    It  has  to  do  with  Stephen.    Where  i.s  it  y 

2.  Does  the  inference,  however,  set  off  Stephen,  or  someone  else  V 

3.  Wliat  remarl^able  glimpse  of  personal  force  does  this  little  point  finally 
give  us  :■■ 

IV.     Inferences  of  Incident. 

THE    BURIAIv    OF    SIR    JOHN    MOORE. 

1.  Not  a  drum  was  heard,  not  a  funeral  note, 

As  his  corpse  to  the  rampart  we  hurried ; 
Not  a  soldier  discharged  his  farewell  shot 
O'er  the  grave  where  our  hero  we  buried. 

2.  We  buried  him  darkly  at  dead  of  night, 

The  sods  with  our  bayonets  turning. 
By  the  struggling  moonbeam's  misty  light, 
And  the  lantern  dimly  burning. 

3.  No  useless  coffin  enclosed  his  breast, 

Nor  in  sheet  nor  in  shroud  we  wound  him  ; 
But  he  lay  like  a  warrior,  takirg  his  rest. 
With  his  martial  cloak  around  him. 

4.  Few  and  short  were  the  prayers  we  said, 

And  we  spoke  not  a  word  of  sorrow  ; 
But  we  steadfastly  gazed  on  the  face  that  was  dead. 
And  we  bitterly  thought  of  the  morrow. 

5.  AVc  thought,  as  we  hollowed  his  narrow  bed, 

.\nd  smoothed  down  his  lonely  pillow. 
That  the  foe  and  the  stranger  would  tread  o'er  his  liead. 
And  we  far  away  on  the  billow  ! 


IM  FIRST  STl'.l'S  IX    KXdI.lSlI   COM  ]•(  tSITION. 

6.  Lightly  they'll  talk  of  the  t^ynnl  that's  gone, 

And  o'er  his  cold  ashea  upbraid  him — 
But  little  he'll  reck,  if  they'll  let  him  sleep  on 
In  the  grave  where  a  Briton  has  laid  liini. 

7.  But  half  of  our  heavy  task  was  done, 

"When  the  clock  struck  the  hour  for  retiring, 
And  we  he.ird  the  distant  and  random  gun 
That  the  foe  was  sullenly  firing. 

8.  Slowly  and  sadly  we  laid  hini  down, 

From  the  field  of  his  fame  fresh  and  gory; 
We  carved  not  a  line  and  we  raised  not  a  stone- 
But  we  left  him  alone  with  his  glory. 

— Charles  Wolfe. 

QUESTIONS. 

1.  Are  generals  usually  buried  in  the  niglil  without  all  ceremony  ? 

2.  How  was  Sir  John  Moore  buried  ? 

3.  What,  from  stanza  7,  do  we  see  was  the  situation  with  respect  to  the 
enemy  ? 

4.  ^\■as  he  buried  inside  or  outside  the  ramparts  ? 

5.  Now,  can  you  tell  why  no  drum  was  beaten  in  his  honor  ? 
C.     What  other  mark  of  respect  was  omitted  ? 

7.  What  expression  in  line  4  shows  that  they  loved  him  ? 

8.  Why  did  they  hurry? 

9.  W^hy  did  they  have  no  light  ? 

10.  Why  did  they  choose  the  dead  of  night  for  the  burial  ? 

11.  How  did  they  dig  the  grave  ? 

12.  Which  is  most  fitting  to  a  soldier's  death — to  have  the  grave  thus  dug,  or 
with  spades  ? 

13.  What  bit  of  "atmosphere"  is  introduced  here? 

14.  What  is  meant  by  saying  the  moonbeams  struggled  ? 

15.  Which  is  most  fitting— the  cloak  or  a  coffin  ? 
IG.    Why,  then,  is  the  coffin  said  to  be  ''  useless '"? 

17.  What  else  did  they  not  do  that  they  would  have  liked  to  do  ? 

18.  Why  were  their  prayers  few  and  short?  {cf.  ques.  8  and  3). 

19.  Was  it  their  haste  that  prevented  them  from  uttering  their  grief  ?   If  not, 
what  was  it  ? 


APPENDIX.  137 

20.  What  did  they  do  that  showed  their  love  ? 

21.  Now  that  he  was  dead,  what  was  the  reason  they  thought  bitterly  of  the 
morrow  ? 

22.  What  act  in  stanza  5  shows  how  they  loved  him  ? 

23.  What  thought  makes  them  especially  sad  ? 

24.  How  do  they  fear  the  enemy  will  talk  about  their  general  ? 

25.  How,  on  the  contrary,  do  they  feel  about  him  ? 

26.  What  is  meant  by  the  line,  "  But  little  he'll  reck,  if  they  let  him  sleep 
on"  ? 

27.  Did  they  get  time  to  finish  their  work  ? 

28.  What  words  in  the  last  stanza  express  their  feelings  ? 

29.  What  last  mark  of  respect  were  they  compelled  to  omit  ? 

30.  Do  you  think  Sir  John  Moore  needed  tombstone  and  epitaph  ?  What  did 
he  leave  that  was  better  ? 

V.     Inferences  that  Reverse  our  Expectations. 

Note  how  we,  at  first,  in  the  following  extracts,  are  made, 
by  means  of  description,  to  take  an  attitude  of  dislike  towards 
the  characters  and  to  expect  poor  things  of  them,  and  how  this 
feeling,  later,  is  completely  overturned  by  means  of  a  series 
of  quick,  sudden  inferences.  This  device  requires  much  space 
in  the  working  ;  and  considerable  time  must  be  made  to  inter- 
vene between  the  construction  of  the  preliminary  unfavorable 
impression  and  the  reversal.  Several  paragraphs  have  been 
omitted  from  the  selections  given,  at  the  points  indicated. 

1.  "Dutchmen,  sir!  Hessians!  Foreign  Republican  hirelings, 
sir !"  exclaimed  the  Colonel,  standing  up.  "  We  shall  drive  them 
like  sheep  if  they  oppose  us.  You  are  drilling  them  now  that  they 
may  murder  your  own  blood,  when  you  think  the  time  is  ripe."     .     . 

.  .  .  .  "And  you  Black  Republicans",  the  Captain  cried, 
"  have  organized  your  Dutch  Wideawakes  and  are  arming  them  to  re- 
sist Americans  born. "  "  We  shall  drill  every  night- 
no  w,  my  friend,  until  further  orders, ' '  said  Richter,  a  leader  among 
the  Germans.  "  It  is  the  Leader's  word.  Until  -sve  go  to  the  front, 
Stephen,  to  put  down  rebellion."  Stephen  sank  into  a  chair,  and 
bowed  his  head.     What  would   he  think — this  man  who  had  fought 


18s  I'IRST  STI:PS  IX  ENGLISH  COMPOSITION. 

and  suflVrcd  and  rcnonnccd  hiw  native  laud  U>v  his  convictions?  Who, 
in  this  noV)ler  allegiance,  was  ready  to  die  for  them  ?  How  was  he  to 
confess  to  Richter,  of  all  men? 

"Carl,"  he  said  at  length,  "I— I  cannot  go." 

"You — you  cannot  go?  Yon  who  have  done  s(i  much  already! 
And  why?" 

Stephen  did  not  answer.  I'ut  Ifichter,  suddi'idy  diviuiug,  laid  his 
hands  impulsively  on  Stephen's  shoulders. 

"  Acli,  1  see,"  he  said.  "Stephen,  I  have  save<l  some  money.  It 
shall  be  for  your  mother  while  you  are  away." 

At  first  Stephen  was  too  surprised  to  speak.  Then,  in  spite  of  his 
feelings,  he  stared  at  the  German  with  a  new  aitiircciatidu  <>i  his 
character.— Church M.I.,  The  CmvX  Ch.  xvi,  T'.k.  ri. 

QUESTIONS. 

1.  Does  the  first  word  express  very  f^reat  admiration  or  regard  for  the  Ger- 
mans ? 

2.  Canyon  find  five  more  points  in  the  first  two  ]>arnt?raplis  tliat  give  ns  a  bad 
impression  ? 

3.  What  is  it  in  Richtcr's  first  sentence  that  malcesit  sound  so  gentle  and 
kind  ■/ 

4.  Wliat  is  the  circumstance  that  reverses  our  first  opinion  ? 

5.  What  is  the  effect  of  Richter's  act  on  Stephen  ? 

6.  Should  we  admire  Richter  so  much  if  his  countrymen  had  not  been  previ- 
ously abused  in  our  hearing  ? 

2.  Could  this  fantastically  tall,  stooping  figure  before  her  V)e  that  of 
the  President  of  the  United  States  ?  She  stopped,  as  from  the  shock 
he  gave  her.  The  lean,  yellow  face  with  the  mask-like  lines  all  up 
and  down,  the  unkempt,  tousled  hair,  the  beard — why  he  was  a 
hundred  times  more  ridiculous  than  his  caricatures.  He  might  have 
stood  for  many  of  the  ])oor  white  trash  farmers  she  had  seen  in  Ken- 
tucky  "  You  are   not  content  in  the  North  with  what 

you  have  gained,"  she  exclaimed.  "You  are  not  content  with  de" 
priving  us  of  our  rights,  and  our  fortunes,  with  forcing  us  back  to  an 
allegiance  we  despise.  You  are  not  content  with  humiliating  our 
generals  and  putting  innocent  men  in  prisons.  But  now  I  supi)Ose 
you  will  shoot  us  all.  And  all  this  mercy  that  I  have  heard  about 
means  nothins; — nothing — " 


APPEXDTX.  139 

"Miyy  Carvel,"  said  the  President,  "T  am  afraid,  from  what  I  have 
heard  ju8t  now,  that  it  means  nothing." 

Oh,  the  sadness  of  that  voice — the  ineffable  sadness — the  sadness 
and  woe  of  a  great  nation  !  And  the  sorrow  in  those  eyes,  the  sorrow 
of  a  heavy  cross — how  heavy  none  will  ever  know.  The  pain  of  a 
crown  of  thorns  worn  for  a  world  that  did  not  understand 

Abraham  Lincoln  laid  his  hands  ujjon  the  girl.  And  Stephen, 
watching,  knew  that  he  was  looking  upon  a  Ijenediction. 

"Virginia,"  said  Mr.  Lincoln,  "I  have  not  suffered  by  the  South.  I 
have  suffered  witJi  the  South.  Your  sorrow  has  been  my  sorrow,  and 
your  pain  has  been  my  pain.  "What  you  have  lost,  I  have  lost.  And 
what  you  have  gained,"  he  added  sublimely,  "I  have  gained." — 
Churchill,  Tlie  Cri><h,  Ch.  xv.,  Bk.  in. 

QUESTIONS. 

1.  What  are  some  of  the  points  that  ridicule  Lincoln? 

2.  Where  does  the  overturning  of  our  feelings  begin? 
.S.    Where  is  it  completed? 

The  following  recounts  Lincoln's  debate  with  Douglas  at 
Freeport. 

3.  Stephen,  craning  in  his  seat,  caught  sight  of  Mr.  Lincoln  slouched 
into  one  of  his  favorite  attitudes,  his  chin  resting  in  his  hand. 

But  who  was  this,  erect,  compact,  aggressive  searching  with  a  con- 
fident eye  the  wilderness  of  upturned  faces  ?  A  personage,  truly,  to 
be  questioned  timidly,  to  be  approached  advisedly.  Here,  indeed, 
was  a  lion,  by  the  very  look  of  him,  master  of  himself  and  of  others. 
By  reason  of  its  regularity  and  masculine  strength,  a  handsome  face. 
A  man  of  the  world,  to  the  cut  of  the  coat  across  the  broad  shoulders. 

The  inevitable  comparison  was  come,  and  Stephen's 

hero  was  shrunk  once  more.  He  drew  a  deep  breath,  searched  for 
the  word,  and  gulped.     There  was  but  the  one  word.     How  country 

AV)raham  looked   l)eside   Stephen   Arnold  Douglas  ! 

There  was  a  hush,  and  the  waves  of  that  vast  human  sea  were  stilled. 
A  man,  lean,  angular,  with  coat-tails  flapping— unfolded  like  a  gro- 
tesfjue  figure  at  a  side-show.  Ko  confidence  was  there.  Stooping  for- 
ward, Abraham  Lincoln  began  to  speak,  and  Stephen  Brice  hung  his 
heail  and  shuddered.     Could  this  shrill  falsetto  be  the  same  voice  to 


1-10  FIRST  STEPS  IN   KXCIUSll  (  O.Ml'(  tSITlOX. 

which  he  liud  lij*teiK'd  only  that  luoniiug?  C'ould  this  awkward,  yel- 
low man,  with  his  hands  behind  his  back,  be  he  whom  he  had  wor- 
shipped? Ripples  of  derisive  laughter  rose  here  and  there,  on  the 
stand  and  from  the  crowd.  Thrice  distilled  was  the  agony  of  those 
moments. 

But  what  was  this  feeling  that  gradually  crept  over  him?  Surprise? 
Cautiously  he  raised  his  eyes.  The  hands  were  coming  around  to  the 
front.  Suddenly  one  of  them  was  thrown  sharply  back,  with  a  de- 
termined gesture,  the  head  was  raised— and — and  his  shame  was  for- 
gotten. In  its  stead  wonder  was  come  .  .  .  The  voice  was  no 
longer  shrill.  Nay,  it  was  now  a  powerful  instrument  which  played 
strangely  on  those  who  Heard.  Now  it  rose,  and  again  it  fell  into 
tones  so  low  as  to  start  a  stir  which  spread  and  spread  like  a  ripple  in 
a  pond,  until  it  broke  on  the  very  edge  of  that  vast  audience      .     . 

But  see!  what  is  this  man  about  whom  you  despise?  One  by  one 
he  is  taking  the  screws  out  of  tlie  engine  which  you  have  invented  to 
run  your  ship.  Look!  He  holds  them  in  his  hands  without  mixing 
them  and  shows  the  false  construction  of  its  secret  parts. 

For  Abraham  Lincoln  dealt  with  abstruse  questions  in  language  so 
limpid  that  many  a  farmer,  dulled  by  toil,  heard  and  understood  and 
marvelled.  The  simplicity  of  the  Bible  dwells  in  those  speeches,  and 
they  are  now  classics  in  our  literature.  And  the  wonder  in  Stephen's 
mind  was  that  this  man— who  could  be  a  buffoon,  whose  speech  was 
coarse  and  whose  person  unkempt,  could  prove  himself  a  tower  of 
morality  and  truth.  That  has  troubled  many  another,  before  and 
since  the  debate  at  Freeport. — Chuuciiill,  The  Crisis,  Ch.  v.,  Bk.  ii. 

VI.  I  append  a  few  sentences  to  show  how  effective  homely, 
striking  words  may  be  made  in  the  hands  of  a  master.  Com- 
pare page  3L  Let  the  pupil  pick  out  the  words  that  seem 
thus  unusually  vigorous. 

1.  A  valley  tliat  lay  skulking  between  two  hills. — Don  Quixote. 

2.  The  ship  burrowed  in  the  waves. — Ibskn,  Et  Riwbreo. 

3.  They  stoned  the  fellow  with  their  silent  eyes. — Ibsen,  Per  Gijut. 

4.  The  mist  enfoMing  us,  as  in  a  gloomy  chamber— or,  perha])s,  if 
the  wind  blew,  falling  suddenly  apart,  and  showing  us  the  gulf  of 


APPENDIX.  141 

:X)me  dark  valley  where  the  streams  were   crying  aloud.— R.    L.  Ste- 
VEXso.v,  Kidnapped. 

5.  ^ly  father  heard  and  ran 
In  on  the  lists  and  the-  ^  unlaced  my  casque 

And  grovelled  on  my  body. — Tenxyson,  The  Princess. 

6.  On  their  curls 

From  the  high  tree  the  blossom  wavering  fell. 
And  over  them  the  tremulous  isles  of  light 
Slided,  they  moving  under  shade.— /6. 

7.  But  he  that  lay 
Beside  us,  Cyril,  battered  as  he  was, 
Trailed  himself  up  on  one  knee.  — 76. 

8.  A  wall  of  night 
Blots  out  the  slope  of  sea  from  verge  to  floor 

And  sucks  the  blinding  splendor  from  tlie  sands. — lb. 

9.  0,  the  most  piteous  cry  of  the  poor  souls!  Sometimes  to  see 
'em,  and  not  to  see  \.m;  now  the  ship  boring  the  moon  with  her 
main-mast,  and  anon  swallowed  with  yeast  and  froth.— Shakespeare, 
TJie  Winter's  Tale. 

10.  Raised  up  his  lia  "d;  then  the  king  of  the  Geats 
Struck  at  the  demon  with  his  good  sword; 
But  the  edge  turned  and  bit  less  strongly 
Than  its  lord  had  need  of. — Beowulf,  2577. 

1 1 .  The  arrowy  under-tide 
Shoots  on  and  cleaves  the  marble  as  it  goes. 

And  strikes  uj?  jialace  walls  on  either  side, 
And  froths  the  cornice  out  in  glittering  rows.  — E.  B.  Browx- 
IXG,  Casa  Guidi  Windoiiy. 

12.  The  hand  did  not  liold  back  from  the  blow 

But  the  ring- wreathed   sword  sang  on    her   helmet. — Beown/f, 
1522. 


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